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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26885914">Messages In Bottles</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/HisAngelThursday/pseuds/HisAngelThursday'>HisAngelThursday</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Peaky Blinders (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aftercare, Anal Sex, Angry Sex, BDSM, Begging, Blackmail, Bondage, Bottom Tommy Shelby, Breathplay, Butt Plugs, Caning, Dildos, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, Edgeplay, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Face-Sitting, Feminization, Forced Masturbation, Forced Orgasm, Humiliation, Kinktober, Kinktober 2020, M/M, Masturbation, Medical Kink, Multi, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Orgasm Denial, Paddling, Pegging, Phone Sex, Pony Play, Prostate Massage, Public Humiliation, Public Sex, Riding, Semi-Public Sex, Sensory Deprivation, Sex Toys, Sexual Coercion, Size Difference, Size Kink, Somnophilia, Spanking, Threesome - F/M/M, Top Alfie Solomons, Vaginal Sex, Verbal Humiliation, Vibrators, Voyeurism</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 21:09:09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>28,662</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26885914</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/HisAngelThursday/pseuds/HisAngelThursday</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>There are a thousand different things intelligent, devious, slightly villainous men can get up to together. Here are just a few.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ada Shelby &amp; Tommy Shelby, Chester Campbell/Tommy Shelby, James/Tommy Shelby, Luca Changretta/Tommy Shelby, May Carleton/Tommy Shelby/Alfie Solomons, Tatiana Petrovna/Tommy Shelby/Alfie Solomons, Tommy Shelby/Alfie Solomons, Tommy Shelby/Freddie Thorne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>113</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>231</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Thoughts on Spanking, Courtesy of Alfie Solomons</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is my take on kinktober! Each of the 31 chapters will have a different kink. Most are compliant with my series "Gangster Idiots in Love," but all can be read as stand-alone situations. </p><p>A huge thank you to my discord peeps who introduced me to many amazing prompt lists! I promise the results will be absolutely filthy. &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Alfie’s always been fond of spanking. Dishing it out, of course, not receiving it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s an excellent way to assert dominance without causing any long-term physical harm, to induce humiliation with minimal psychological damage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The taboo of spanking another adult man is something he’s always found compelling, always keen to deviate from society’s diction of normalcy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On a superficial level, he loves the beauty of a well-sculpted male arse. You can tell a lot about someone, he maintains, by their arse – the way they walk, the amount of physical activity demanded by their lifestyle, their hygiene. He’d tried to explain this line of reasoning to Tommy, who, rudely, had just gone back to his work and ignored Alfie as if he were some kind of babbling madman.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy is Alfie’s favorite person to spank. He has an arse that was made for it, pert, yet womanly in its roundness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie had informed him of this, and he acted, of all things, offended. But he must know, right, considering how he dresses – waistcoats that accentuate the nip of his midsection, trousers that are just a bit too tight around his backside, inviting hungry eyes. Indecent, really, but Alfie quite likes that he’s a bit of a little tart and isn’t afraid to say so. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another thing about spanking is how quickly and how efficiently it changes dynamics, exposes hidden urges. Take Tommy for example. Brave, proud little thing, always puffing around like a tugboat, whom everyone is inexplicably afraid of. It was amazing how quickly that changed when he was on his hands and knees, getting fucked by Alfie for the first time, Alfie’s palm turning his lovely cheeks red. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No one, Alfie wagers, would ever dare to spank Tommy Shelby. Well, unless he asked, which is certainly a possibility, considering how hot the little slag gets for it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once, he’d inquired, quite innocently, if anyone else had ever had the pleasure of spanking Tommy. Tommy, quite unreasonably, had gotten so flustered he’d had to leave the room, and had the nerve to be angry with Alfie for the rest of the day. It wasn’t Alfie’s fault Arthur had been in the room, was it? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, that’s another thing Alfie likes about spanking Tommy, in particular: Tommy is a brat. No one else would think of him as such, because they’re all afraid of him, so it never occurs to them how bratty his behavior can be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie is not afraid of Tommy in the slightest, and a good way to remind him of that is to put him over one knee and give his bare arse a good seeing-to. It doesn’t cure his bratitude, but it gives him pause, his sore bottom a reminder that his behavior has consequences. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now. Another thing Alfie loves about spanking, and that he’s sure Tommy can also appreciate, is that it is an artform. There is no end to how creative one can get with spanking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s the usual, the tried and true: bending Tommy over his knee, over his desk, over a chair, or spanking him on all fours, either with his hand or with a standard implement, like a shoe or a spoon or a belt. But as time went on, and their bank accounts got fatter, Alfie got more creative. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He began paying visits to sex shops, and ammassed quite a collection of paddles: standard wooden, transparent, and, for when he’s really feeling sadistic, there’s one that’s full of holes to remove all air resistance and make it sting unbelievably. He breaks that one out when he wants to remind Tommy that he can make him yelp, and that he’s not beyond begging from pain (though it’s incredibly impressive how long the boy can hold out – once, Alfie paddled him until every inch on his lovely arse had been flayed and tenderized like a gourmet steak before Tommy gave in and begged for mercy.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Also in Alfie’s sadistic collection are canes of various widths, switches, straps, and riding crops (“I know you have an affinity for horses, love,” Alfie had explained, even before he’d gotten the horsetail plug.) He has a particular affinity for the loopy johnny, which makes almost no sound, and fits neatly in his pocket. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he suspects Tommy might misbehave in a public setting, Alfie will bring the loopy along with him. And if Tommy does indeed do or say something bratty, he’ll whisk him off to the bathroom and give him ten to fifty with it, depending on the gravity of his offense.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s always enjoyable to spank Tommy in a semi-public place – enjoyable for both of them, judging by how hard Tommy comes afterwards – but he enjoys the planning and intimacy of the bedroom even more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once, Tommy had been especially bad, nearly dying for the sake of a business venture and then flagrantly disrespecting Alfie for daring to be concerned about it. Alfie had known just how to fix that behavior.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d tied him up on the bed with his arse in the air and his hands cuffed to the spreader bar keeping his legs apart. He’d used a blindfold and earplugs to deprive him of his senses. That was when the real fun could begin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He used his fingers and tongue to torturously work open Tommy’s hole, until his cock was twitching against his little heaving belly, and he couldn’t contain his soft, muffled sounds. Then, Alfie – slowly, gently, unrelentingly – shoved a ten-inch dildo up his arse. The sounds he’d made were nothing short of divine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, and only then, did Alfie spank him. First with his hand, then with the clear paddle, then with the unholy paddle with the holes in it. Afterwards, he used a cane to criss-cross his cheeks with bright red stripes, paying special attention to the delicate sit-spots under his cheeks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Only when Tommy was crying behind his gag and blindfold, unable to hold anything back, did Alfie pull out the dildo and fuck him. Roughly, and careful to avoid his sweet spot, but gently stroking his back all the while, reminding him without words that he was still loved.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Afterwards, Alfie shoved the dildo back in and left Tommy like that until his neglected cock finally wilted. It took a while, the little pain-whore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy had pouted all through aftercare, indignant – at the pain and humiliation, at not being permitted to come afterwards. “You’ll come when you’ve earned it, sweetie,” Alfie informed him, washing the tear stains from Tommy’s face and then treating the welts on his arse with ointment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie wasn’t surprised when Tommy cuddled up to him that night, still angry, still sulking, still avoiding putting any weight or friction on his poor backside. It’s the only time Tommy seems to feel comfortable being vulnerable, when Alfie makes him vulnerable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that might be why Alfie loves spanking so much.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Dignified Art of Dirty Talk</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Lessons in dirty talk, from oratory masters Alfie and Tommy.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Alfie’s greatest weapon is his fucking mouth. Of this, Tommy is sure. Alfie’s mouth is a jackhammer that never fucking stops, chipping away at his sanity like a bird pecking at his skull.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Words have always been weapons for Tommy, but he chooses them with precision and care. Like surgeon’s tools. Often, he’ll conceal them until the precise moment he plans to strike, like a razor hidden up his sleeve. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie conceals nothing. If a thought crosses his mind, he’ll say it, regardless of who’s present. He is an expert at ending conversations before they can properly start, dropping bizarre and socially inappropriate observations like bombs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Last December, they’d been hanging holiday decorations as a family and having a surprisingly pleasant time. That was when Alfie, who’d been suspiciously quiet up till that moment, decided to remark, “Tommy, those dinners I’ve been making are paying off, mate. Your arse has a bit more bounce to it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And there went the sense of gaiety and rare familial harmony, right out the window.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy had been furious at Alfie for the rest of the evening, and Alfie had pretended not to know what the issue was. “Is this because I remarked on your weight? Darling, you’re still just a tiny thing, and you know I like my men with a bit of a rump.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Tommy’s bad mood intensified and he refused to talk to Alfie at home – and he certainly wasn’t sulking, regardless of what Alfie had to say on the matter – Alfie had picked him up and slung him over his shoulder, depositing him face down on the bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I suppose I’ll just have to show you how much I like it, then,” he said cheerfully, yanking Tommy’s trousers down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another thing about Alfie: he teases. And Tommy cannot stand being teased.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can take any degree of mockery or degradation if it’s to achieve a goal – he’s still the one in power then. But with Alfie, it feels like any power he has has been yanked out from underneath him like a rug, and he’s suddenly got some bearded bastard standing over him and taunting him about it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh goodness me, sweetie, you’re so flushed all of a sudden,” Alfie will say during foreplay, all mock concern. “I do hope you aren’t falling ill. Should we stop?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Tommy doesn’t immediately answer, and answer “nicely,” then Alfie will make a big show of debating whether they should continue, playing with Tommy’s dripping cock all the while. It’s all the worse if Tommy’s hands are bound, which they frequently are. Alfie is a master of bondage, and even Tommy, who is quite an escape artist, can never seem to wriggle his way out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His goal, of course, is to make Tommy beg and lose coherency. That’s almost always his goal, and he has various ways of achieving it. Most involve talking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wish you could see yourself, you lovely, desperate little thing,” he’ll remark, his fingers moving as constantly as his voice, embedded deeply up Tommy’s arse. “Prick bobbing, tits heaving, mouth like a wet pink cunt. You shouldn’t be surprised I’d do this to you, your whole body’s begging me for it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Tommy will be furious and mortified and so turned on he can barely think, Alfie’s filthy words steadily ratcheting up his arousal. When Alfie really gets into it, he’ll come up with pornographic scenarios, and spout them in explicit detail. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know what I ought to do, right, is tie you up like a little stuffed pig and present you to all your enemies on a silver platter. Fat dildo in your mouth like an apple, making drool coat your pretty lips, making your eyes water. A plug up your arse, stretching out your wet cunt, getting it ready for use. A ring on your slutty prick, keeping you from coming too early. Imagine the things they’d do to you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy had had a gag in his mouth at the time, and couldn’t do anything but writhe in impotent fury and blinding arousal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Every single one of them has had dirty thoughts about you, you know. Especially the ones who want to put you in your place the most. They all want your face between their thighs, your arse whipped red and your cock bobbing for them, little belly swollen with cum. Picture how they’d leave you, painted with their fluids, your hair sticky with it, your arse whipped purple. Hole whipped till it’s angry red and swollen, fucked open and stretched beyond recognition, leaking their cum. But they wouldn’t let you come, would they, little one? They’d get you worked up enough to beg for it, to surrender all dignity, and then they’d taunt you for it. They’d make you think you were going to get it, and then they’d take their hand away and leave you to writhe, like the desperate little whore you are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Tommy had come then, without a hand on his prick, his orgasm as inescapable as Alfie’s cruel fingers relentlessly working his sweet spot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought so,” Alfie had smiled, so knowing and smug that Tommy had wanted to bite him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was almost worse that Alfie was so kind afterwards, kissing him as he cleaned him of his own spend and sweat, murmuring sweet words about how good he’d been, how beautiful. No one talked to Tommy that way, and it made his insides feel like they were melting. Fucking bastard wouldn’t even let Tommy hate him properly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But of course, Tommy’s oratory skills are also legendary, and they can be deadly when put to good use. He seldom takes control in the bedroom, but sometimes, when Alfie is tired and in need of cheering up, he’ll ride him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He puts a lifetime of horseback riding to good use, moving to the tempo of his own breath, or to music, if there happens to be a record playing. And he’ll talk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No one else gets to see me like this, Mister Solomons,” he’ll say, in the voice of a politician. “I arrive at the House of Commons, a place of power and privilege, and I still feel you inside me. An ache that lasts all day, Mister Solomons, and makes me want more. I feel you when I sit down, I feel you when I walk, and I feel you when I stand to give speeches to all those great men, who can’t even begin to imagine the things you make me do. Even when we’re apart, I can feel the ghost of your touches, your hands on me, your mouth and your cock. No one’s ever touched me the way you do, Mister Solomons. No one would dare. But you touch me, and you own me, and you mark me inside and out, because I’m yours. Your property. And no one touches your property.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And if Alfie doesn’t spend in him with volcanic force – which he often does, in these instances – he’ll flip him over and bend him in two and fuck him like a grizzley bear that’s just awoken from hibernation. If Tommy doesn’t come before he does, then he’ll use his mouth afterwards, fingers up Tommy’s arse and lips around his cock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And in moments like that, Tommy thinks, he might like Alfie’s mouth after all.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm challenging myself to finish kinktober by the actual end of October, because I can't be reasonable about anything. But even if I can't finish "on time," I'm still having so much fun with these. </p><p>Next chapter will be for the prompt, "Public." Inspired by Mintjam's amazing "Mistakes" fic, it will feature Campbell.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. A Gentleman's Bargain</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Chester is surprised by what Shelby will do to protect his family. If he were a law-abiding man, and better born, he might admire him.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Content warning for non-con, specifically for this chapter. Since Chester is getting consent via coercion. </p><p>This chapter is done for the kinktober prompt "public," and is inspired by Mintjam's AMAZING fic "Mistakes," which is one of my favorites. I enjoyed going a little darker with this one!</p><p>This can be viewed as a prequel to Tommy/Alfie's relationship in my usual AU, or as a separate AU entirely.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It’s rare, that Chester manages to corner Shelby. But what a thrill when he does, and what a thrill to know that the honorless little Gypsy will do anything – </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span> – to secure his way out. He’s devoid of the principles of character that define real men. He fights dirty, and he plays dirty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want Arthur out, too,” he says, already undoing his necktie. He knows what’s coming. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chester pretends to consider it. “We’ll see. For now, let’s focus on getting your poor cousin Michael out of prison, shall we? Before he suffers any more misfortune than he already has.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shelby just nods, shrugging off his coat and draping it neatly over a chair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It bothers him, that Shelby is always so accepting of Chester’s conditions. He wants more shame, more disbelief that Campbell would demand this of him. A crisis of identity. But Shelby, despite being vain and prideful as a cat, is absurdly good at humbling himself when the situation requires it. If he’s required to kneel, he’ll kneel, all while plotting your demise in intricate detail. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chester’s tried to shake things up a bit today, by having several of his most loyal men present. Not the brightest creatures, but loyal as greyhounds, square-shouldered and square-jawed. They dwarf even Chester, who is by no means a small man. Shelby hardly reaches their pectorals.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Furthermore, the door has been left open. This is to remind him that this is Chester’s domain, and he doesn’t have to take any superficial precautions to keep Shelby here or hide what he’s doing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They have to be here?” Shelby asks offhandedly, removing his waistcoat. He doesn’t look at them, but Chester knows he’s referring to the men standing guard. Already, they’re watching Shelby’s movements with hungry eyes, lacking the civility to control their appetites.   </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chester smiles, glad to hear that Shelby is capable of shame. “Yes,” he says, without further elaboration. “And before you ask, the door has to remain open. If anyone happens to pass – or hear, which they surely will – it is no concern of mine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This gives Shelby pause, and a delicious thrill rushes through Chester. He lives for the moments when he can mine shame and uncertainty out of the obstinate little Gypsy prince. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, if this is too much of a sacrifice for a man such as yourself,” Chester reminds him, “I’m sure your aunt would be willing to offer herself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck you,” Shelby informs him, and begins to unbutton his shirt. “I’ll do it. It’s nothing to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Well,</span>
  </em>
  <span> thinks Chester. </span>
  <em>
    <span>We’ll see about that.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He really is a stunning specimen. The strength of a man, the beauty and delicacy of a woman. Designed to tempt anyone who looks upon him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shelby doesn’t give him the satisfaction of hesitation as he removes his underwear, but the sight beneath makes up for it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My, my, Mister Shelby,” Chester purrs as Shelby straightens up and does his best to look dignified. “Getting rather excited, aren’t we?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a physical response,” says Shelby, his voice carefully moderated. He knows better than to show visible weakness. “Nothing else.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm. And what would darling Grace have to say about that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shelby’s face falls, just slightly deflating of its pride. It’s more satisfying than the sweetest wine. Chester stores this weakness away for further exploitation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now.” Chester leans back in his chair, knees apart. He’s about to tell Shelby to kneel before him and suck him off – which is often what he demands during these rare, delightful occasions, as it’s difficult to imagine a more degrading position to be in. Until now, when a new idea dawns on Chester. “I want you to sit on my lap.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Surprise very briefly overtakes Shelby’s features. He hadn’t been expecting this, either. Even Chester’s men exchange glances, intrigued. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Shelby is a smart man, Chester will give him that, and he knows that voicing his discomfort will only make things worse for himself. So he steps forward, and takes a seat on one of Campbell’s thighs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s always startling how small he is up close. In most places, he seems to grow, casting a shadow that fills entire rooms. His coat billowing out around him. Not here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He weighs very little, on Chester’s lap, and despite his best efforts, he suddenly looks delightfully shy. Though his deadpan expression remains intact, his eyes keep darting around, too large and expressive to fully hide his emotions. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chester wonders why he doesn’t do this more often. It would be very easy, Chester realizes, to make Shelby ride him. Next time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The goal is to make Shelby a participant. He’ll start by making him the only participant. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now,” says Chester. “I want you to touch yourself.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shelby looks shocked. It’s a beautiful expression on him, those huge eyes blown wide with it. Chester’s never asked him to do this before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the gears are turning – Chester can see it – and he can see Shelby weighing his options. Chester knows that he will do anything to protect the younger members of his family. Even expanding his empire is really for their benefit. He’s surprisingly selfless, and Chester wonders if anyone else besides him actually realizes that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can see the exact moment when Shelby gives in. His gaze lowers, eyelashes delicate against those pale cheeks, a lovely flush rising beneath their porcelain white skin. He takes his cock in hand – which, as Chester pointed out, is already more hard than it probably should be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This isn’t new, exactly – Shelby often gets hard during business exchanges of this particular nature – but it feels good to remark on it before an audience. More degrading.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It isn’t a large cock, but it’s well-proportioned for a man of Shelby’s size. It fits neatly in Shelby’s hand, which, similarly, isn’t that large – just large on his small frame. Chester notices that he’s closing his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look at it, Mister Shelby,” he instructs him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wants Shelby to resist, so he can grab him by the jaw and squeeze painfully until he opens his fucking eyes, and hold him like that. But Shelby obeys.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pink head appears and disappears behind his foreskin as he works it up and down, pink and glistening, desperate for attention. He’s fully hard now, the presence of an audience having done nothing to decrease his arousal. If anything, perhaps, it’s increased it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you like being watched, Mister Shelby?” Chester asks, watching his reactions carefully. Shelby’s ears have turned pink, his eyes fixed on his own cock. “It seems like you do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chester tries not to talk too much. The wet sound of Shelby jacking himself, his cock slicking up with his own precum, is the loudest thing in the room, and he wants to keep it that way. But it seems like a wasted opportunity if he doesn’t talk Shelby through it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I bet you’ve slept with men before, haven’t you? They tell me you were Sergeant Major, during the war. I have a hard time believing it was your mind alone that got you that title.” As Chester speaks, Shelby’s chest starts moving, heaving shallow breaths. “You have the beauty of a woman, Mister Shelby. Perhaps you were meant to be one. At any rate, your face and your body were surely meant to tempt men.” He grins at his own train of thought. “I bet you had the seed of ten or twenty men leaking out of you each day, your hole as open as the cunt of a whore. There’s no limit to how much you’ll debase yourself, is there, Mister Shelby?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shelby’s hand speeds up, and Chester senses he’s eager to get this over with. In the future, Chester resolves to make him slow down. Edge himself. Beg to come. Beg to hump Chester’s leg like a common dog. Beg to suck off Chester and his men, to be fucked by them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wants to own Shelby. He wants to take away everything that he is, and make him cling to Chester for everything he needs: for food and shelter and love. He wants to render him helpless and pink as a creature without its shell. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you going to come, Thomas?” Chester asks. In a gesture of tenderness that surprises even himself, he realizes that his fingers are raking through the soft stubble at the back of Shelby’s head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you would like me to come, I will,” Shelby states, but the breathlessness of his voice contradicts his attempt at pragmatism. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not yet. Stop,” Chester finds himself saying. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The look on Shelby’s face is one Chester would like to store away like a squirrel for winter. The poor boy looks beautifully confused and conflicted, like he can’t decide if he’s horrified or relieved. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But of course, nothing could come before the well-being of Shelby’s family – even if the family member at risk is a spoiled, reckless little brat who probably thinks himself Shelby’s heir. So, Shelby wrenches his hand off of his own cock. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His little prick bobs against his stomach, as Chester watches, storing away every single reaction. Embarrassment is a difficult emotion to read on Shelby, but Chester likes to think he understands him better than most: there’s an uncharacteristic flush to his face and neck, and his throat bobs as he swallows. His lovely eyes remain averted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would you like me to suck you off, Mister Campbell?” he asks, quietly. “Or perhaps your friends?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chester smiles. “Humility is a good look on you, little Gypsy street slut. But, no. This isn’t about our pleasure today. It’s about yours.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shelby hitches in a breath, and Chester recognizes another emotion: rage. It occurs to him, perhaps much belatedly, how badly Shelby must want to kill him right now. The murderous instincts he must be resisting, his little body taut with them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Perhaps this should diminish Chester’s arousal, but it increases it. All he wants is to see how far this might go, how far Shelby can be pushed, how much he can force him to restrain himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wants to order Shelby to kiss him, and see the bloodlust in his eyes as he’s forced to comply. He wants to whip his arse and thighs red, and make him say ‘thank you’ after every blow. But that can wait till later, once Shelby’s a bit better trained. And anyway, as Chester said: this is about Shelby, and his shameful pleasure. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re being awfully rude to my men, Mister Shelby,” said Chester instead. “You’ve hardly looked at them. And here, I promised them a show.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gears turn in Shelby’s eyes, and Chester can see the mounting dread. Still, Shelby asks, “So you want me to look at them?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want you to face them.” Chester rearranges him, guiding him to straddle his lap with his back to Chester’s chest, his legs spread wide. He’s also facing the open door this way, making him vulnerable to the eyes of any other officers who might pass. Chester can actually feel the bright red heat spreading up Shelby’s neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As for Chester’s men, though they remain standing at attention, they do nothing to hide their interest. Their eyes shamelessly explore, roving over Shelby’s bared body like the noses of hungry dogs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now. Ask them if you can touch yourself.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s just a moment of hesitation. Shelby is so still it makes Chester nervous, but that only adds to the thrill.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“May I touch myself, gentlemen?” he asks, finally.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Shelby were a law-abiding man, a better-born man, perhaps Chester could respect him. He really is a brave little thing, bearing every humiliation with more dignity than even Chester himself could manage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chester shudders at the mere thought of being in Shelby’s position, which in turn only adds to his arousal as he imagines the storm that must be going on in Shelby’s head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, as for Chester’s men, they’ve just been asked to improvise. He can see that they’re conflicted, that some of them would probably want to say “no” just to torment Shelby further, but they also don’t want to contradict Chester’s wishes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” smirks one, a bull of a man with close-set eyes and flaring nostrils. “You think we ought to let him, Sir?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think we ought to. Just to be nice.” Chester loops his arms around Shelby’s narrow midsection, pulling him a little closer. “Go ahead, Mister Shelby. And make sure you look at them while you’re doing it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chester can feel the rage radiating off of Shelby like heat, the mortification. The men aren’t helping, watching every movement openly, eyes darting between his cock and his mouth and his heaving chest, looking as though each would touch themselves right here if Chester allowed them to. But it doesn’t stop him from making himself come within minutes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, Shelby likes being watched. Or at least his body does. This, too, is something Chester stores away for further use.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He waits for the little Gypsy to cool off a bit, and to cherish the feel of him, panting and loose and totally vulnerable in his lap, still holding his softening cock and splattered with his own ejaculate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will –” Shelby pauses, wetting his lip. His voice is gloriously wrecked. “Will you release Michael?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank my men first. Were you raised in a tent?” Chester tuts, knowing full well that it’s a possibility that he was. “They let you come, after all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, gentlemen.” Shelby’s voice is a little softer now, a little meeker. Chester beams. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, my beloved greyhounds. You know what to do, make sure Michael Gray is returned to his mother. She should be waiting outside.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The men nod, though they have the dejected look of dogs who have been denied a slab of meat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry,” Chester smiles. “Tomorrow, I’ll discuss with Mister Shelby exactly what he’ll be willing to do to free his brother.”  </span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Fun With Toys</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Alfie brings home a new toy to cure his husband's stressful mood.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Something a bit fluffier (but still kinky as sin) after that Campbell installment. This is obviously for the prompt "toys." If you have any prompt requests or kinks/pairings you'd like to see explored within these 31 chapters, please let me know in the comments!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Tommy’s stress and anxiety comes in waves. One day, Alfie will think they’re making progress – Tommy might even amble into his lap to read a book, or cuddle up to him unprompted – and the next, he’ll be pasing about the house at odd hours like some kind of a fucking cryptid, waving his arms and muttering in some sort of stress-born Romani-English pigeon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At first, Alfie would get worried, and getting worried would make him into a proper arsehole, who’d yell at Tommy in lieu of a way to actually help him. But now, he’s learned to plan for it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One morning, he spots the warning signs. Tommy will hardly touch his breakfast, and his eyes dart around like anxious mice. Alfie knows what’s coming. He chooses not to remark on it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have a nice day at work, sweetie,” he informs him, pressing a to-go cup of coffee into his hands as he ushers him out the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as Tommy’s gone for the day, Alfie calls Ollie and tells him he won’t be coming in for the morning. He has some shopping to do.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>* * *</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Tommy announces. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s sitting on the bed, his tie undone, and an unlit cigarette hanging lopsided from his mouth. In his hands is the large pink sex toy Alfie purchased for him today. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a prostate massager, love,” Alfie explains, plucking Tommy’s cigarette from his mouth and throwing it across the room. “And, if you look right there – you see that?” He points with his pinky. “That part, right, gets your perineum.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My perineum?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, your bridge. That nice little sensitive spot between your balls and your –”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, fuck, I get it, Alfie.” Holding the toy in one hand, Tommy runs his hand wearily over his face with the other. “It’s just. Don’t you think I should be prioritizing other things right now? There’s so much to do –” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oy.” Alfie barks out the word, just enough to get Tommy’s attention. “Do I need to remind you which of us knows what’s best for you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie’s using his bossy voice, and he can practically see Tommy’s ears prick with interest. And his cock, of course.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Tommy concedes, clearly trying to make it sound like he’s humoring Alfie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And do you need to be reminded what happens to naughty little boys?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy’s eyes dart down at that. “No,” he says a bit more quietly, and yeah, Alfie’s got him now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, then,” Alfie growls. “Get undressed, and be quick about it. I don’t like to be kept waiting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy tries to act like he’s doing Alfie a tremendous favor, but his obvious arousal gives him away. Even more so when Alfie orders him to lie on the bed so he can tie Tommy down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s for your own good, sweetie,” Alfie explains, tying his arms above his head. “It will help you let go. You want to relax, don’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The last thing I need to do is relax,” says Tommy, but his cock by this point is rock hard against his hip and he’s having a hard time meeting Alfie’s eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which would be all well and good if Alfie’s goal right now were to make him self-conscious, but right now, Alfie really does want to force him to let go. Though if he can make him flustered and humble him a bit in the process, that’s all well and good, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie pauses for a minute, contemplating, then reaches into one of his drawers and emerges with a ball gag and a blindfold. Tommy’s eyes widen with excitement, evidently before he can remember he’s supposed to be indignant. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time he’s coming back to himself, Alfie’s already talking again. “You want to stop, you can snap your fingers. I don’t want to hear any of your bratitude this evening.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy opens his mouth – to complain, by the looks of it – and Alfie responds by preemptively shoving the ball gag in. “How very cooperative you’re being this evening, Thomas,” he smiles, as Tommy glares murderously up at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blindfold follows, and Alfie doesn’t miss the hitch of Tommy’s breath as his vision is taken away. He kisses him on the cheek. “Remember, Tommy, I’m right here, and we can stop whenever you need to. Okay, love?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy hesitates, but seems to sense that this requires an answer. He nods. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie takes his time slicking up the toy. He takes his time slicking it up, and testing the vibration settings, letting Tommy listen, watching him squirm involuntarily. Alfie makes sure to sit close enough to him to let him feel his weight on the bed and his body heat, aware that Tommy can get anxious if left in the dark. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He also takes his time opening him up, lies down horizontally next to him as he works slicked-up fingers into his hole. His chest bobs so invitingly, Alfie can’t resist sucking on his nipples as well. Only when Tommy’s little sounds become dangerously close to orgasmic, does he pull away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wouldn’t want you to come before the fun’s even started, darling.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once the prostate massager is in and settled, Alfie takes a seat, remote control in hand. He already knows – because he planned this, and he knows Tommy, and he knows himself – exactly how this will go. And, being the vocal person he is, he says so.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, Tommy. Now, I will turn this toy on, right – and I will turn up the intensity slowly, until you are squirming and writhing and on the brink of orgasm. And then, my darling, I will turn the vibrations down to almost nothing. And I will keep this up until you are on the brink of angry tears, and you’ll surely try and yell at me through that gag, and call me all sorts of foul and unfortunate language. But I will keep going until your scheming little brain is reduced to nothing but the need to come.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy has gone almost totally still, and Alfie is sure he’s furious. And terrified. And turned on, by the way his prick is bobbing faintly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing to say?” chirps Alfie. He holds up the remote, though he knows Tommy can’t see it. “Then, I suppose we can begin.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that, he flicks the switch.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Shameful Ordeals</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Unexpectedly, this turned out to be a mini-sequel to the previous chapter! It's for the prompt "humiliation."</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Alfie finds all sorts of devilish ways to debase Tommy, to the point at which they make even Tommy himself question the bounds of man’s capacity for evil. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He reminds himself that he can endure anything. Tommy’s always been an object of male desire, attracting interest wherever he went, a rare angelic face amidst the fog and soot. It’s not vanity, he thinks, to be aware of that. And he’s never been above using that desire – anyone’s desire – to his advantage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’ll debase himself if it means achieving a goal, sink to his knees with a razor hidden up his sleeve. If he enjoys the act of submission more than he should, he can shrug it off as the exhilaration of the moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With Alfie, though, it’s different. Everything’s different. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s interesting, even to himself, the moments when he’ll give in. It’s seldom the moments one would expect, when Alfie comes up with some humiliating task for him and forces him to perform it (and Tommy neatly sidesteps his own knowledge that Alfie isn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>making </span>
  </em>
  <span>him do anything.) In those moments, he’s defiant. Indignant. He has something to fight against.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once, Tommy lost a bet, and had to spend the evening in a maid uniform – perfectly tailored to fit him, yet purposefully too short – scrubbing the floor for Alfie’s enjoyment. He’d come twice, but that’s not the point. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>More recently, Alfie’s been – perversely – using Tommy’s love of horses as a means of sexual inspiration. Despicable, in his mind, to use such majestic and innocent animals to feed into his depraved fantasies. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy’s said so, but it didn’t stop Alfie from coming home the next day with a newly purchased horsetail plug. It was obvious which of them was intended to wear it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Tommy did wear it. He tells himself he doesn’t know why. And, at Alfie’s impolite request, he sucked Alfie off while Alfie lay back against the pillows, his arse facing Alfie so the bastard could tug at his “tail,” reaching between his legs occasionally to tease his aching cock and remind him that he was far from a passive participant. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tail had been revived several times since then, usually when Alfie felt like spanking him with a riding crop and making him crawl around on his hands and knees. Alfie comes harder than usual when Tommy’s wearing it, usually filling Tommy’s mouth or splattering his face (disgusting, Tommy would never be so unhygienic under normal circumstances.) </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But what he hates even more is the fucking bridle, which doubles as a gag. Alfie sometimes has him wear it when he fucks him on all fours, yanking hard. It’s horribly degrading – never mind what the bastard says, or how hard Tommy gets, or how hard it makes him come – but he could withstand it, if Alfie were simply his enemy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Alfie’s not his enemy, though in a different world he might have been. And the fact that he can’t contextualize this as a battle of wits between men bent on destroying each other denies him a vital way out. It denies him the ability to tell himself he doesn’t want this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So it’s not the moments when Alfie’s being the most merciless that Tommy breaks, but the moments after, the moments in between, when he’s being gentle and loving. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy could take it if Alfie simply whipped his arse purple and left him tied up with a fat dildo up his hole. Which he has done, more than once. But the bastard always rubs his back, gently, depriving him of the privilege of hating him. Rubs ointment on the welts, talking him patiently, condescendingly, through what he did wrong. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Take right now, for example. There’s a prostate massager buzzing madly in Tommy’s arse, and he can feel his body tensing up, involuntarily, with his impending orgasm. He knows Alfie can see it, because the vibrations turn down again to almost nothing, leaving him to writhe helplessly, the pleasure he’s been chasing yanked away from him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You fucking bastard,” Tommy tries to say, lips stretched around his ball gag. “I hate you, I fucking hate you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ssshh.” He can hear Alfie, even though he can’t see him, the blindfold just thin enough to let a bit of light through and keep him from the total darkness that makes him anxious. “You’re alright, lovely thing, I’m right here. I won’t leave you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knows Alfie’s being purposefully patronizing, but there’s an undercurrent of genuine affection that makes him twist against his bonds. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A napkin – or towel, it’s probably a small towel – comes up to dab around Tommy’s mouth, and his ears go hot as he realizes how much he’s been drooling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Quite a mess you’re making, innit, mate? In more places than one, I see.” He feels Alfie’s fingertips dip into the cooling pool of precum on his belly. He turns his head to the side, even though he already can’t see. “Don’t know why I ever let you get off. You’re perfectly lovely like this, desperate and leaking.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He expects the taunts, but he doesn’t expect to feel Alfie’s mouth, licking the precum from his stomach. His lips are ridiculously warm and delicate, the scratch of stubble strangely erotic. He squirms, and wants to yell at Alfie to get off – but he doesn’t. Because he’s afraid he might actually stop, and he doesn’t want him to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The vibrator hitches up again, unexpectedly. It’s not enough to get him off – not nearly – but it’s stimulating enough to be frustrating. He rolls his hips, before he can stop himself. He’s not sure he could stop himself if he wanted to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie pulls off, and he makes a sound of frustration that sounds upsettingly like a mewl. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bit of a little tart, aren’t you,” Alfie remarks, conversational and delighted. “Always surprises me, what a mess you are once you’re properly turned on. I wish you could see yourself. Beautiful, you are. Fucking perfect.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It bothers Tommy that he can’t answer, can't refute the statement, and his frustration ratchets up his arousal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie turns it up another setting, and it occurs to him how sensitive the sustained stimulation has made his prostate. They’ve been at this for an hour now, at least – it’s hard to keep track of time behind a blindfold – and Alfie’s brought Tommy to the edge and back five times. He’ll probably be numb for an hour after this is over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can feel pleasure building, and he can’t stop himself from tensing up. Fuck, not again, please not again – </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tears of frustration build behind Tommy’s blindfold as the vibrations once again go down. His prick twitches, painfully, and he can’t prevent the pathetic sound he makes. How could Alfie possibly want him like this? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Alfie’s hand is smoothing his hair, and he feels those lips, cool against his hot face, kissing him. “Ssssh. You need this, remember? I’ve got you, sweet thing. You’re safe with me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This – this is when Tommy breaks. Not under shameful circumstances, not under physical pain, but under the total mortification of being loved through it. Of having someone bring him to his absolute lowest, and want him anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy wishes he could escape, but Alfie won’t stop kissing him, won’t stop touching him. And now the tears won’t stop either, making him grateful for the blindfold. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now,” says Alfie, sitting back up. “Let’s try this again, just once more. With feeling.” </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Big Fucks Small</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A shamelessly indulgent exploration of Tommy's size kink.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Couples featured: </p><p>Freddie/Tommy<br/>James/Tommy<br/>Luca/Tommy<br/>And of course,<br/>Alfie/Tommy</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Tommy’s never been bothered by his size, and has even used it to his advantage when fighting. He knows he’s a small man, by some people’s standards. 5’7’’ isn’t tall, and he is what Alfie fondly referred to as “bird boned.” So he doesn’t consider it all that odd that most of his partners have been close to his size, or larger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In terms of women, Grace was his height. Greta too. Lizzie’s a little taller. That Russian girl he keeps encountering at fundraisers, Tatiana, is at least a couple inches taller, and it doesn’t stop him from feeling the pull of mutual attraction. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In fact, the one exception to this rule, in recent memory, was May, though she made up for it with a dominant and assertive attitude. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Made up for it.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Made up for what? He does seem to gravitate towards relatively tall women, but that doesn’t mean anything. Lots of men like their women statuesque. Lots of men like their women aggressive, too. It doesn’t necessarily mean anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now. Men. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Almost all of Tommy’s men – and it still feels strange to call them that – have been larger than him, and the difference has been more substantial. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s Freddie. Freddie’s a prominent example. Tommy can still remember the strange feeling it gave him when they both hit puberty, and Freddie shot upwards, suddenly looming over him. Freddie had constantly teased him for remaining petite, and it had given Tommy an odd, pooling feeling that he can retroactively recognize as arousal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It didn’t help that the taunting had led to a few physical fights, wrestling around in the dirt and panting, which both of them enjoyed more than they probably should have. It was no surprise what happened when they were both a bit older. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d question what was wrong with him, but some confused adolescent impulses were probably the least of his problems. Even then. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The problem was – alight, it wasn’t really a problem, though it was mildly concerning – was that it kept happening. And it didn’t end with puberty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A while before he’d met Alfie, he’d taken to sleeping with Ada’s roommate of the time, a boy named James. James had the face of a baby deer, but he was fucking tall, his shoulder span about twice the width of Tommy’s. And there was that fucking feeling again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because it felt odd to sleep with someone when it wasn’t part of some sort of transaction, he’d found some jobs for James to do, and used his body to ensure his loyalty. James had held him against the wall when he fucked him, Tommy’s feet barely brushing the ground, babbling boyish things that made him wonder if the young man was a virgin: “I can’t believe this is happening,” and “perfect, Mister Shelby, you’re so perfect.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy hadn’t been able to walk right for a few days afterwards. He made sure James got the best apartment in town, for one tenth the usual price. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next man whom he’d fucked for a business transaction was Luca Changretta, with whom he’d made a deal to secure the transport of liquor to America. He’d been an arrogant fucker, looking down his nose at Tommy – literally. The man was the size of a giraffe, and he was clearly quite smug about it, finding reasons to loom over Tommy and show off the length of his limbs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At one point, Tommy had gotten up to retrieve a book of records from his shelf. The fucker had had the nerve to say, “Perhaps you want me to get that for you. It might be a bit hard for you to reach.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Tommy was pissed off, he was so fucking pissed off – and he had a </span>
  <em>
    <span>stool</span>
  </em>
  <span> for that, thank you very much – but that frustration only fed into his physical arousal. He was grateful he had an excuse to sleep with Luca, to consummate their business deal, because his pride might have kept him from giving into the fucker otherwise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course Luca was a bastard about it. He’d used his physical size to bully Tommy, stripping him while Luca himself remained fully clothed, and lifted him easily. Tommy had no choice but to cling to the fucker like a newborn baby, not wanting to be dropped, but hopelessly turned on by the show of strength. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luca, the bastard, had sensed his anxiety and tossed him up in the air a bit, making him gasp and cling tighter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry, little Gypsy, I won’t drop you,” he chuckled, long fingers kneading Tommy’s arse cheeks where he held them. “I’ve lifted normal-sized men before. You weigh next to nothing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy had been furious, but he reminded himself that this was for business. So, he let Luca fuck him just like that: bouncing him on his cock like he did, indeed, weigh next to nothing, taunting him with how much he clearly liked it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Knew you’d be a shameless cock whore, Mister Shelby,” he’d grunted, as Tommy panted against his neck. “It’s easy to see how you got to the top, little slut that you are. You’d make a thousand dollars a night on a New York street corner.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy had tried to refute the statement, but Changretta bounced him particularly hard, and all that came out was a truly embarrassing groan. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you like that? Do you like my big cock splitting your tight little Gypsy ass? Surprised it even fits in you, little gangster boy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Luca did have a huge cock, truly equestrian, which pissed Tommy off to no end. The tall fuck didn’t deserve to be well-endowed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy had tried to stave off his orgasm, not wanting to give the bastard the satisfaction. But the angle was too good, hitting his sweet spot just so, and he came first. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He at least got some satisfaction from ruining Luca's pristine, hand-stitched suit, but the fucker didn’t seem to care. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good luck explaining that to your uncles,” said Tommy, wobbling as if on sea-legs as he got re-acclimated to the ground.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luca just grinned, watching him dress. “It was worth it to watch you come undone on my cock, Mister Shelby.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the very least, it ensured a lucrative deal, and fueled Tommy’s imagination long after the smug fucking bastard went back to the states. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, of course, he’s with Alfie. Alfie – Alfie’s not the tallest man he’s been with, by far. But he is big. Thick, with a fortified strength that makes Tommy feel embarrassingly fluttery, like an adolescent girl. The dissonance between what people expect from him – coldness, pragmatism, and unflinching dominance – and what he often wants for himself both frightens and arouses him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The dangerous thing with Alfie is that he seems totally aware of Tommy’s embarrassing weakness for large men, for men that make him feel small, and absolutely uses it against him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re only little,” he often reminds him, in situations when Tommy absolutely does not need reminding. Or, “There’s my good little one,” or “Goodness, you’re a naughty little thing, aren’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Since he finally got surgery for his sciatica, he’s also taken to lifting Tommy at unexpected times, just to show that he can. Even flinging him over his shoulders, like a yoke. It absolutely turns Tommy on to no end – even as he pretends to be angry, he’s pretty sure Alfie can feel his erection poking him, a dead give away of how much he likes it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He likes when Alfie uses his bulk against him, bending him in half as he fucks him with his legs hooked over his shoulders, the angle merciless against his prostate. He likes when Alfie pins him down, pushing his face into the pillows when he feels he’s been talking too much, pounding him relentlessly. He likes that he can fit in Alfie’s lap when he’s riding him, how easily he can bounce up and down, guided by Alfie’s big hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy’s never been bothered by his size, and has even used it to his advantage when fighting. But now, he’s learning to accept that there are other benefits, too. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. An Impatient Patient</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>This one is for the prompt "medical play," and features Tommy being an uncooperative patient for his doting husband.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The hardest thing about Tommy getting sick isn’t the coughing or sneezing or any of the traditional annoyances, but getting the little fucker to stay in bed. Alfie realized this would be an issue early on in their relationship, when Tommy nearly got himself killed, working to the point of exhaustion with a case of influenza. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, Alfie’s careful not to let that happen again. When Tommy’s health takes a downturn, he’ll go so far as to physically force him to stay in bed, until Tommy finally agrees to cooperate and calls his aunt and sister to give them temporary control of the business. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least until Alfie’s back is turned, at which point Tommy always tries to disappear back to his home office to get some work done. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s where Alfie finds him today, poised over his desk and coughing, scrutinizing some papers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There you fucking are,” Alfie growls. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” This is, in fact, the first place he’s looked. Though they don’t need to talk about that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thought you were making soup,” sniffs Tommy, his nose bunny pink. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was making soup. And do you know where my kitchen is? It’s right beneath our fucking bedroom, where you’re supposed to be, right now. So I fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>heard</span>
  </em>
  <span> you get out of bed.” He adds, because Tommy still hasn’t looked up from his papers, “Not as sneaky as you usually are. It’s almost as if you want to get caught.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy just scoffs, attempting his usual careless veneer, but he looks tiny and miserable and in desperate need of someone to take care of him. He’s wearing one of Alfie’s sleeping shirts – too big on his small frame – and nothing else, which is jarring, considering he usually never even leaves the bedroom without his suits. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on. Let’s get you back to bed, before you get sicker than you already are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“M’fine,” Tommy snaps, with a stuffy-sounding sniff. “Let me just finish this first. Go back to your soup.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie adjusts his posture so he’s standing with a wide-legged stance and his arms crossed. “I will once you’re back in bed where you belong.” If Tommy thinks Alfie’s going to go easy on him because he’s sick and therefore disadvantaged, he’s terribly mistaken. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy seems to sense the change in tone. Because he looks up, and though he looks like he has all the stamina of a Victorian orphan, he states, “Make me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dangerous fucking words, as poor Tommy is reminded of far too quickly. Alfie has always been deceptively fast, more so since he got his sciatica fixed, and Tommy is physically fatigued and thus much slower than usual. Alfie catches him easily, and as a man who spent much of his youth lifting and moving heavy objects, has little trouble tossing him over his shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy fights, half-heartedly, like a child throwing a tantrum: kicking and shoving at his shoulders. He’s seen Tommy fight before, and he knows that even in his current state, he could escape if he actually wanted to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, he puts on a good show, spitting like a caught feline. “Alfie, put me the fuck down! You fucking</span>
  <em>
    <span> bawlow</span>
  </em>
  <span>!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie smacks him on the arse for his trouble. “Flattery will get you nowhere, sweetie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as they reach their room, Tommy is deposited back on the bed, right where he belongs. Alfie dusts off his hands as Tommy glares up at him, his eyes watery with illness but glistening beautifully. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seeing as you insist on getting up,” Alfie remarks, assessing, “I suppose extreme measures will have to be taken to make sure you remain where you are.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keeping a firm eye on Tommy – can’t have him bolting, even now, when he’d be easy to catch again – he retrieves some silken ties from his chest of drawers. Tommy tracks his motions suspiciously, as if he doesn’t know exactly what will happen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Alfie crawls on top of him, pinning him down with his weight, Tommy offers the pretense of fighting. Alfie contemplates taking him in the Biblical sense – the masochistic little fucker wouldn’t mind – but this is supposed to be about making Tommy rest, and he must set a good example, mustn’t he. Doesn’t mean he can’t have fun with it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So instead, Alfie just ties his arms to the headboard – sure enough, even in his state of illness, he can feel Tommy go still with interest. Poor thing, he definitely doesn’t know what’s coming. Alfie then, for good measure, also ties his ankles together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That should hold you. Naughty little patients often need to be restrained, nothing unusual about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy glares at him, but says nothing. He doesn’t protest when Alfie peels back the sleeping shirt to expose his cock, though he does look away, always strangely bashful when confronted with his husband’s hungry eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s soft, which is to be expected, he’s not as physically up to task as usual. But it is erotic, in the way Alfie always finds Tommy’s cock erotic. As dusky pink as his nipples, resting innocently on his balls, no longer than Alfie’s index finger when flaccid. The vulnerable pinkness of his flesh is oddly obscene, the way it’s framed and contrasted by thick dark curls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thought I was supposed to be resting,” Tommy remarks, though he’s clearly quite embarrassed by the scrutiny, turning his head off to one side as if debating whether he’ll need to hide it against his own arm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie responds by spitting into his hand and stroking Tommy’s cock slowly, gently. Tommy’s cold has clearly made him more sensitive than usual, causing him to hiss even as his prick begins to stir in Alfie’s hand. Working with the precision of a surgeon, Alfie gently twists his shaft in his palm, peeling back the foreskin with his thumb. With his free hand, he gently fondles his balls. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes a few minutes, but eventually, Tommy is completely hard – enough so to be suppressing little sounds, and tugging involuntarily at his bonds as Alfie works him. Alfie makes his grip just slightly firmer, making sure to caress him from head to root, studying Tommy’s reaction as if he really is a doctor and Tommy is a patient upon which he is cruelly experimenting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He waits for the telltale sign that Tommy is about to come – the tensing of muscles, the pursing of his brow, jaw clenching then falling open – and when that occurs, he stops. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy looks outraged. With himself as much as anyone else, Alfie wagers, for failing to see this coming. “You bastard. You fucking bastard, don’t you dare –” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Alfie just presses a kiss to the wet pink tip of Tommy’s cock, and smiles. “You’re right, sweetheart. You really should rest. Silly me, I don’t know what I was thinking.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>To convey with finality that Tommy won’t be shooting his load in the immediate future, he tugs the sleeping shirt over his erection – still turgid and twitching, like it’s missed the memo that it’s no longer needed – and then a pulls the blanket back over Tommy, not bothering to untie his arms or ankles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“At least fucking untie me,” Tommy snarles, though there’s a pleading edge to his voice. The way he sniffles after might tug at Alfie’s heartstrings, if he were a better man. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why would I do that?” Alfie tucks the blanket around Tommy firmly, partially out of care, partially to see the erotic way his cock still tents the fabric, as though indignant at being forgotten. He rubs it gently, teasingly, with a single index finger, feeling it pulse faintly. “If you wanted your freedom, you should have been a good little patient and listened to Nurse Alfie.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck.” Tommy thumps his head back, seemingly aware that he’ll be at Alfie’s mercy for a while. Alfie will let him get off eventually, but only with a substantial period of good behavior. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now. I’ll go fix you some nice soup,” Alfie informs him, standing up. “And don’t worry, I won’t have to untie you – I can feed it to you.” </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Between a Rock and a Hard Place</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>For Tommy's birthday, Alfie suggests a threesome. It's both the best and worst birthday present he's ever had.</p><p>Featuring May/Tommy/Alfie.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It’s intended as a birthday present for Tommy. Alfie’s sure to suggest it ahead of time, as Tommy had demanded he discussed all birthday presents of a sensitive nature. This rule had originated when he’d gifted him with a king-sized dildo at his last birthday party.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought you might miss it,” Alfie offers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just because I like women doesn’t mean I need to have sex with them,” Tommy retorts, like a hauty little prude. “Just like I don’t need to have sex with men besides you. That’s just how relationships work, usually.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, well. We’re not </span>
  <em>
    <span>usual</span>
  </em>
  <span> people, are we, poppet?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The truth is, Alfie sort of wants to see Tommy fuck a woman. Watch her take pleasure from him. He’s not sure why, he’s never been interested in having sex with solitary women, but watching two beautiful creatures in motion would be rather like watching a ballet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s pleased to see that Tommy’s still considering the prospect. “You’d really be okay with that? If another </span>
  <em>
    <span>man</span>
  </em>
  <span> touched me –” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If another man touched you, I’m pretty sure I’d have to kill him. But women are different. They’re less of a threat, since most of them don’t have cocks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alfie, that’s an incredibly sexist attitude. Shelby Company Limited –”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“– Believes in equal rights for women,” Alfie recites. “You know that’s not what I meant. It’s not that dicks are inherently superior, it’s just that you’re a shameless cock whore and I can’t imagine you going the rest of your life without one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy lowers his gaze, clearly trying to hide how much the comment turned him on. “Well, I’m quite fond of the female anatomy as well, Mister Solomons.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie scoots closer to him on the bed, trying not seem like the complete creeper he’s being. “So. You’ll consider it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Under one condition.” He can almost see Tommy reaching for his cigarettes, which he usually smokes when making a deal, before remembering that Alfie doesn’t allow any in the house. “I get to pick the girl.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>* * *</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The girl’s name is May. Alfie can, on an aesthetic level, appreciate her beauty: she’s pretty in a deerlike way, with a frank, nut-brown stare. She seems bemused throughout the introductions, less with the situation, and more with how nervous Tommy seems to be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And this is my –” he waves an arm at Alfie, while staring at the ground. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Husband?” May suggests. She extends a hand towards Alfie. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Mister Solomons. Sorry I couldn’t make the wedding.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie grunts amicably in response. “Nice to know he tells his friends about me. Or talks about anything, besides work and his fucking horses.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m afraid I might have something to do with that. I’m his horse trainer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The horsetail plug and bridle immediately jump to Alfie’s mind. He imagines May fucking Tommy senseless, using the bridle to control the pace, the horsetail protruding from Tommy’s lovely arse. But then, she might take that as a direct insult to her profession, and Alfie doesn’t want to scare her off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Next time, then, if there is a next time. They’ll see how it goes, won’t they.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy stands there quietly and lets them talk, hands folded and eyes downcast, and Alfie can see that he’s already in the submissive mode usually reserved for the bedroom. And which can usually only be brought out by a lengthy session, involving the implements of paddles and switches. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t know what Tommy had going on with May, but it’s clear to see which of them was the dominant one in that set-up. Seeing two of his doms together must have caused his poor, submissive brain to short-circuit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, Tommy’s clearly ready,” says Alfie, at the end of it. “So, maybe we should just get started, shall we?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>* * *</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Let’s start him out slowly. It is a new setup, after all.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds good to me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’ve taken to talking </span>
  <em>
    <span>about</span>
  </em>
  <span> Tommy instead of talking </span>
  <em>
    <span>to</span>
  </em>
  <span> him, even though he’s right there, and it’s clearly going straight to Tommy’s prick. He’s the only one of the three of them who’s gotten undressed – under Alfie’s instructions – and he sits there on the bed looking hopelessly turned on but mortified by his very existence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He has a hard time letting go,” Alfie continues, “so there’s a couple implements I like to employ, just to help him along.” He walks over to their little drawer full of toys, and beckons May to join him. “This blindfold, for example.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So we can see him but he can’t see us,” May remarks, turning it over. “Creates an imbalance of power.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly. You catch on quickly, mate. Now, I also have these earplugs for the same reason, but in this case I think hearing us is part of the experience.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>May is already rifling through, brushing her fingertips over a pair of leather handcuffs. “How about these? For logistical reasons, it probably won’t be a good idea to tie him to the bed. But we can cuff his arms behind his back, so we can touch him, but he can’t touch us or touch himself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie grins, stroking his beard the way a villain strokes a cat. “I like the way you think.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>* * *</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy, the way he usually is in these situations, is furious. He’s furious with them, for talking about him like he’s little more than a piece of meat that they’re about to carve up together, and he’s furious with himself for being so turned on by it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wants to cover his hard prick with his hands, but he knows that such a blatant sign of weakness will only lead to more humiliations. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next thing they discuss is how they’ll go about it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’ll sit on my lap, with my cock up his arse,” it’s ultimately decided, “and you can sit on his prick.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I like the sound of that,” agrees May. “And how long should we make him wait to come?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I say we make him beg a bit. What I like to do sometimes is get myself off, and then tease him until I’m ready to go again. It usually takes a while, I’m not as young as I used to be, but that’s sort of the point. By the time my cock’s back in him, he’s usually breaking down and ready to do a little begging.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can go with that. I’ve got nowhere else to be tonight.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In truth, Tommy realizes, he’d hoped Alfie would be too hopelessly jealous of May to function. Then he could comfort Alfie, and apologize to May, and ultimately, he’d be the one in power.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the bastard seems to be so secure in the fact that Tommy’s not going anywhere, smugly aware that he’s the love of Tommy’s life. So instead, he and May are working towards a common goal, like African Wild Dogs about to attack their prey. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He keeps his eyes downcast as they approach, Alfie cuffing his arms behind him and May taking away his vision, kissing his face as she does so like a mother putting her child to bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He resolves to stay silent for as long as possible, but by the time he’s already settled on Alfie’s dick, he can already feel the cracks beginning to form in his own willpower. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He has to clench his jaw as his cock is enveloped in the heat of May’s cunt, and he finds himself trapped between two walls: May’s soft breasts, pressed against his chest, and the hard wall of Alfie’s girth behind him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can’t touch them, he can’t move, he can’t see, and he’s already overwhelmed with impossible, all-encompassing pleasure. Someone whimpers pathetically, and he realizes it’s him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie shushes him, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck. “Just sit back, dear. Enjoy the ride,” he murmurs, lips brushing his ear. “It’s your birthday, after all.” </span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Between a Rock and a Hard Place: Part II</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A continuation of the scene between May, Alfie, and Tommy, because it was too delicious to leave alone.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Tommy feels like his head has been hollowed and filled with warm air. He’s still blindfolded, still cuffed, with May sitting on his face. All he can taste is her cunt, the wet heat of it, the obscene scent, triggering some primal response in him. His cock feels hard enough to fall off, but neither May nor Alfie will touch him there. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Instead, May is holding his ankles up near her shoulders, essentially doubling him in two. He’s been in this position long enough for his haunches to ache, but what’s far less bearable is the persistent sensation of Alfie eating him out with singular, relentless focus. His tongue has been lapping and breaching his hole so long that it’s started to hurt, and his beard is chafing the inside of his cheeks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alfie finally comes up for air, after what surely must have been a half hour, and Tommy feels like sobbing with relief. But May doesn’t release his ankles, which is concerning. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck. My tongue feels like it’s about to fall off,” Alfie grumbles, though his tone is strangely appreciative. “He make you come again?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not yet,” breathes the voice of May. “I think he’s a bit distracted.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm. Bit rude, innit, seeing as you’re company.” He slaps Tommy’s arse, hard, making his whole body jolt with surprise. “Nothing to say for yourself?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck you,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Tommy thinks, but obviously can’t say. He tries to spell it on May’s clit with the tip of his tongue. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well. In that case, maybe you need a bit of motivation, don’t you, treacle?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy’s concerned, both by the statement, and by the way the bed bows, indicating Alfie is getting up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hold him like that, will you,” Alfie instructs May. “That position’s perfect for what I have in mind.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fuck, not spanking. Tommy’s not sure he can handle that right now – he already feels completely overwhelmed, every nerve in his body teased to attention. If someone so much as touched his cock, he knows he’d come right away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They’d already been teasing him for over an hour before they came up with this position. With their mouths, their fingers, their words. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just let go already, sweetheart, we’ve got you,” Alfie had murmured sweetly in his ear, while May suckled relentlessly at his already full balls, licking her own juices from the base of his shaft. “What harm’s a little begging do, hmm?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Tommy wouldn’t beg. His ego never got in his way when it came to actual plans, but it did in situations like this, when there was nothing to be gained from humbling himself. When humility wasn’t part of a ploy, but a genuine means of making himself vulnerable for other people. Bare. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This was already almost too much shame for him to stomach. He’d never gone this far with May before – she’d never pushed him the way Alfie did – but she’d already come twice this evening. Straddling his hips and touching herself, her wet cunt hot against his lower belly, when he was too close to coming for her to ride his cock. Once already from his mouth. Tommy’s always been proud of his tongue, skillful in more ways than one. Not that he’s feeling very proud right now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Quite large, isn’t it?” May inquires, breaking his thoughts and spiking his anxiety.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mm. Was thinking about getting the one that vibrates, yeah, but we don’t want him shooting his load until he’s earned it properly.” The bed bows as Alfie gets back on, and Tommy feels the tip of a large plug against his worked-open hole. His cock twitches in Pavlovian response, making May chuckle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I never thought he’d be so eager for it. When I took charge, I always felt like I was getting away with something,” she remarks. “If I’d known, I’d have pushed him more.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s what he wants,” Alfie agrees, breaching Tommy’s rim slowly, gently. “Think about it, right: when you’re in charge all the time, it gets tiring, don’t it? You want a break after a while. This is a break for him. A break from being in charge.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That makes sense, I suppose. Sounds like something Freud might propose.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s somehow more degrading that they’re psychoanalyzing him while taking him apart so relentlessly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The plug bottoms out, snug against his prostate. Alfie taps it with his fingertip. “There we go, sweetie.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy refuses to whimper, but he writhes in May’s grip. Alfie smacks his cheek again for his efforts. “Oy! Be polite to your guest. And keep eating her out, where’d your manners go? Fucking ridiculous.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He knows Alfie’s holding something else, because he hears him smack it against his hand. Fuck. A paddle. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well. We know how to take care of bad manners in this house.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy’s whole body tenses up when Alfie lays the first strike. Fuck. The blow pushed the plug right against his prostate, and the pain – Tommy’s always enjoyed a very specific type of pain more than he hopes to let on. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He furiously laps at May’s cunt, hoping to distract herself, and her hips gyrate against him in slow circles. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alfie spanks him again. He can feel himself twitch, his cock pulsing. He can’t come, he can’t fucking come from being spanked, it would be a humiliation beyond humiliation. Not in front of May.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wonders if Alfie knows what he’s doing, and realizes that the answer is probably ‘yes.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Another strike. Another. Alfie works up a steady rhythm, and he can feel heat building inside him with each blow. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wriggles out from under May just enough to be heard. “Please,” he gasps. “Please, stop. Don’t do that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm, that sounds a bit like begging.” Alfie spanks him again, and fuck, his entire body jolts with it. “You going to safeword?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just stop for a minute,” Tommy pleads. “Please, I can’t take it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, the great Tommy Shelby’s a just a little boy who can’t handle a spanking,” Alfie growls, lust audible in voice. “If you’re not going to safeword, get back to work pleasing your guest.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t be rude, Mister Shelby,” agrees May, clearly enjoying her role, as she slides back into position over his mouth. He can hear the wet squelch against his own face, and it makes his insides burn. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alfie spanks him again. Again.</span>
  <em>
    <span> Again.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He tenses up. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Again.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Oh. Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck –</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He writhes, balls drawing up and untouched prick twitching painfully, pleasure lighting up every nerve. His own hot come splatters his chest, and he can’t help the muffled cry of despair that leaves him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There's a moment of shocked silence, and Tommy wants to shrivel up and blow away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck,” breathes May. “Did he just –”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come from spanking? Yes. Yes, he did.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Over the ringing in his ears, Tommy hears the paddle tossed to the side. His head’s still thrumming with mortification and pleasure as the plug is removed, and Alfie fucks into him. He’s merciless, cock abusing his oversensitive sweet spot.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>May mimics Alfie’s ferocity, grinding against his face like he’s something to hump. He can’t even use his mouth anymore, so he lets himself be ravaged until they both use his limp body to get off: Alfie spills, hot fluid filling his hole with an ursine growl. May takes just a minute longer, grinding against him till she stiffens and her hot cunt pulses and twitches against his face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Only then does he realize the damn blindfold has come off. May shuffles off of him, already murmuring sated praise. Tommy can't do anything but lie there and get re-acclimated to being able to see.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>* * *</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy, predictably, is absolutely fucking useless as Alfie sees May out. Alfie lets her kiss Tommy goodbye, probably tasting her own fluids on his lovely, tired face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nice of you to do this, May,” Tommy manages, trying for his businessman voice, but he still can’t look her in the eye.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She smiles, stroking his hair. “Get lots of rest. You were beautiful. You did beautifully.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alfie wonders if she talks to her horses that way. He manages to keep that thought to himself as he shows her to the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can see why he married you,” she remarks. “I’ve never seen him like that. You make him let go.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, you certainly helped. Useful, having a third party now and then.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>May’s looking through her pocket book. She looks far more put-together than the mess of a human being they just left on the bed. He knows he’ll have to get back to him soon – Tommy always needs someone to care of him after a scene, or he falls into a depression that can linger for days.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>May finds her keys, smiling at Alfie as she jangles them. “Have a nice night, Mister Solomons. I hope you’ll be in touch.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I certainly will be, Missus Carleton.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And he intends to be. Having a third party involved presents so many new opportunities, so many things to explore. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Next time, of course, he’ll remember to ask her how she’d feel about the horsetail. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span></span>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Take My Breath Away</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Tommy needs some help releasing tension from work, and comes to his loving husband for help.</p><p>This one's all about breath play. I was inspired by MintJam's wonderful take on the subject, "Skylark."</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“I’m not going to fucking strangle you, Tommy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy tries to contain his irritation and disappointment. Alfie’s coerced him into doing some of the most obscene and degrading things imaginable throughout their marriage, and this is where he draws the line?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, you’ll whip my arse bloody but you won’t fucking choke me for a couple minutes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie calmly turns the page of his book. “Strangle.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Choking is an internal event, right, in which the airway is blocked. Strangling is where someone squeezes your throat from the outside. Hence, I choke you with my cock, but I’d hypothetically strangle you with my hands.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy slumps back next to his husband on the couch. Being choked – strangled, rather – by his significant others has been a longtime, shameful pleasure of his. It lets him surrender for a minute, put his life and his trust in their hands. He thought Alfie would be pleased by the suggestion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why not?” Tommy presses, trying not to sound utterly pathetic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well.” Alfie sets his book down and looks irksomely thoughtful. Tommy knows he’s being purposefully aggravating. “The truth is, sweetie, you’re just a tiny thing, and I’d be afraid to hurt you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck </span>
  </em>
  <span>off,” Tommy spits, prickling like an angry cat. “I was fighting for my life on the streets before I was five. And in case you’ve forgotten, you get off on hurting me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but not in any way that can kill you.” As if to prove his point, Alfie puts his hand firmly around Tommy’s neck, and squeezes just enough to make his breath hitch. “Look at that. Look how big my hand is compared to your throat. And need I remind you, self-control isn’t my strong-suit – if I really got into it, I might forget to let go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If this is Alfie’s attempt to torment Tommy, it’s certainly successful. Out of defiance, Tommy meets Alfie’s stare, until he finally lets go with a low growl that goes straight to Tommy’s cock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Besides that, poppet, the simple truth is I’ve seen too many men die that way,” says Alfie cheerfully, picking up his book. “It would be upsetting to see you in the same position. You know how sensitive I am about such things.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy sulks. He doesn’t want to make Alfie do something he’s not comfortable with, but he can’t help his disappointment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s been under constant pressure at work lately, dealing with businessmen and politicians straight from the depths of hell. Three quarters of his family members have been misinterpreting or ignoring his instructions, and the rest are constantly questioning his choices. He needs to blow off steam, or something’s going to burst.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, sweetheart. Don’t pout.” Alfie mocks him by jutting out his lower lip. He pats Tommy’s thigh placeacingly. “I just said I wouldn’t strangle you. There are other ways to have fun, aren’t there?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>* * *</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Strangling Tommy had been a tempting notion, and there was something particularly delicious about the fact that Tommy had wanted it badly enough to come to Alfie about it. It had taken some proper fucking willpower to say no.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But unfortunately, right, Alfie hadn’t learned to strangle people with the intention of preserving their health. He’d learned to incapacitate them as quickly as possible, and brutally as possible. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he wants to hurt Tommy, to be sure – almost as badly as Tommy wants to be hurt. To hurt Tommy feels like a way to assert ownership over him, which Alfie might actually feel guilty about if Tommy weren’t clearly so desperate to be owned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So yeah, he’ll find a way to hurt Tommy. But he’ll do it safely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t need fucking bondage tape,” Tommy spits, clearly still pissy at not getting his way. The spoiled little princess. “Just use fucking duct tape, not that fancy shit.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now poppet, you know how I love your pretty face, and I wouldn’t want to damage your lovely skin. Besides, since when have you objected to me spending money on you, hmm?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy just pouts as Alfie winds the tape round his arms, binding them high and tight behind his back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Turn to the side, will you,” Alfie mutters, though he’s already rearranging him to sit sideways on his lap. He winds the bondage tape just about his knees, not tightly enough to cut off circulation, but tight enough to be uncomfortable. That’s sort of the whole point of this, innit?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now put your ankles up,” Alfie instructs, already reaching down to grab them and pull them up himself, Tommy’s bound knees tucking up to his chest. He proceeds to bind those together as well. “Picture it, right. I’m a big, scary burglar, right, and you’re a sweet little defenseless housewife who’s home all by herself –” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alfie, you’re lucky I’m not in a position to kill you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“– And I meant to just leave you there all scared and bound up, but you just look so nice and helpless that I can’t resist having a little fun with you.” Alfie tears off the tape with a loud rip. “Of course, I ask you first, right, because I may be a burglar in this scenario, but I still understand the vital nature of obtaining consent.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How very fucking considerate.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm, yep, that I am, mate, that I am.” Alfie sets Tommy’s legs down. He’s naked, of course, and Alfie’s clothed. Just for humiliation’s sake, he asks, “Your cunt nice and wet for me, love?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy looks away. “Yes, I prepped like you asked me to.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s a good lad,” Alfie pats his bare thigh. “Now, I’m going to get the talking out of the way, yeah, because in a minute, the tape’s going over your mouth. And if you want to stop, I just want you to pinch my chest, alright?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy nods. “I’d be more than glad to do something that would cause you pain, Alfie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, well, the feeling’s mutual, mate. Now: you ever ride side-saddle?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Alfie,” Tommy sighs, shooting him a withering glare. “Riding side-saddle was not particularly high on my list of priorities.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm-hmm, well, there’s a first time for everything, isn’t there? So what you’re going to do is, you’re going to ride me, just like this. Legs strapped together like a mermaid tail, so your experience as a jockey won’t be much help to you. And it will be up to you to get yourself off, right, using only my cock.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright.” Tommy nods, clearly trying to project certainty that he doesn’t feel. “I can do that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good boy. Anything else to say before I shut you up for a while?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I have nothing else to say.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he won’t for a while, too. Alfie makes sure of that, as he secures a piece of bondage tape securely over Tommy’s mouth. Tommy just stares blankly at him, like there’s nothing Alfie can do to phase him. Alfie will make sure that doesn’t last long. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh. And one more thing, love,” Alfie says, as if he’s just remembered. “You’re only allowed to move –” and here, to demonstrate, Alfie pinches Tommy’s nose, cutting off his breathing – “while I’m doing</span>
  <em>
    <span> this.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy’s eyes go wide, his nostrils fluttering as he tries and fails to suck in air. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, that’s more like it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>* * *</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy will kill Alfie. He’s decided. Tonight, he’ll put a pillow over his head, and then the fucker will see how he feels. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is more torturous than being choked – </span>
  <em>
    <span>strangled</span>
  </em>
  <span> – ever was. Being strangled takes a few minutes, and then it’s over. With this – with this, Tommy can only move for about fifteen seconds at a time, before Alfie lets him breath again and he has to stop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His lungs are burning. His bound legs are burning. He’s soaking Alfie’s shirt through with his own sweat. Meanwhile, the fucker is just sitting there, perfectly calm, not even flustered. Babbling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is your pretty head swimming yet, love? That happens after a while. If I let you talk, you might even get giggly,” he remarks, as Tommy bounces on his dick with everything he has, Alfie’s thick fingertips firmly pinching his nose shut. “Which I’d quite enjoy, personally. You don’t laugh enough, mate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shut up, shut the fuck </span>
  <em>
    <span>up </span>
  </em>
  <span>– </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy can feel pleasure pooling inside of him, building each time the tip of Alfie’s cock hits his sweet spot. He’s almost there,</span>
  <em>
    <span> fuck, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he’s almost there – </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, Alfie lets him breath again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wouldn’t want you to pass out, would I?” Alfie chirps, as Tommy collapses against him, chest heaving. Alfie tuts. “You shouldn’t exert yourself that way, sweetie. We have all the time in the world, don’t you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy watches helplessly, tiredly, as Alfie trails his fingers down his bare, sweat damp chest. The delicate skin of his stomach twitches, oversensitized, beneath the thick pads of his fingertips. His cock is so hard, it pulses when Alfie so much as brushes it with the back of his hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The lack of oxygen will do that, too. I heard it ratchets up your arousal. Each time I cut off your air, I wind you tighter.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, Tommy’s been ratcheted up to the point at which he’s ready to burst. How many times has Alfie cut off his air? Twenty? Thirty? More? How does the fucker seem so calm?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Which reminds me.” And just like that, Alfie’s pinching his nose shut again, taking away his ability to breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck, already? It doesn’t feel like he’s gotten enough air – it hasn’t felt that way for a while. And his legs ache badly, unused to being forced to move in this particular way. But the discomfort of his unquenched arousal might be the worst of all, so he sets back to work, thrusting himself up and down in the smug bastard’s lap. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s try for thirty seconds this time, shall we?” Alfie remarks lightly, fingertips tracing up and down Tommy’s back. “You’ve earned it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time he lets Tommy breath again, Tommy’s head is spinning. He can’t suck in air fast enough, his chest trembling with each intake. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie kisses the back of his neck, beard tickling his sweat-damp skin. “You can give up if you’d like, sweetie. No shame in it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck him. Fuck this bastard, he knows exactly what he’s doing. Tommy won’t give up, not till he gets exactly what he wants. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No?” Alfie asks, feigning concern. “Well. If you say so, darling.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy’s not quite prepared when Alfie cuts off his oxygen again. He thought longer periods of suffocation would mean longer breaks, but evidently not. Still, he wants badly to earn his orgasm, so his hips stutter to life like a train engine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t want to think Alfie will beat him, but after four thirty second cycles, he feels properly dizzy, and he has to work to keep himself from swaying in Alfie’s lap. He can’t hide how increasingly uncoordinated he is, forcing himself sloppily up and down, chasing an orgasm that feels increasingly fleeting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>To make matters worse, his eyes have started watering, which makes his nose run, which makes breathing even more difficult than it was already. And Alfie only gives him about ten to fifteen seconds between intervals as is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, darling.” Alfie feigns concern. “You don’t need to cry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy’s not crying. His eyes are watering for the exertion, that’s all. And he hurts all over, and his lungs burn like someone’s taken a wire brush to their insides, and he can’t get enough fucking air. And his cock has been unrelentingly, achingly hard, his arousal ratcheted up each time Alfie takes away his ability to breath. Thoughts are swimming, difficult to hang onto, and he’s shaky all over, and so fucking frustrated that he might actually start weeping for real. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell you what, dear one. I’ll offer you an ultimatum: you can tap out now, and I’ll lay you down on the couch and fuck you nice and gentle and you can breath all you want –” Tommy can hear Alfie’s lips shape the vowel before he lets the word drip out – “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Or, </span>
  </em>
  <span>I’ll give you the opportunity to prove yourself, and I’ll cut off your breathing until you make yourself come, or make </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span> come, or make yourself pass out. Whichever comes first.” He pats Tommy’s trembling thigh. “S’all up to you, dear.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck him, fuck him and the horse he rode in on, the bastard knows exactly what he’s fucking doing. Tommy wants badly to be laid down and fucked gently, kissed, held, without having to gulp in air before it’s taken away again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he can’t back down from a challenge. He can’t. He can’t let Alfie think him weak.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie waits a bit, as if giving Tommy the chance to think it over. He knows damn well his mind’s made up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You sure, darling?” he asks, voice gratingly pitched with sugary-sweet concern. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy nods, sucking in as many precious breaths as he possibly can.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie cuts off Tommy’s air supply until he starts to see stars. Until genuine, primal panic starts to set in, and his lungs keep gasping for air he can’t get. But his hips stutter like his life depends on it, with such ferocity that Alfie has to hold him tight with his free arm to keep him from bouncing out of his lap. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Calm down sweetie, it’s not a race,” Alfie pants, with obvious delight. “Though if it was, you’d certainly win it, little rabbit.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy wishes, beyond anything, that he’d shut the fuck up. The audible slur of lust in Alfie’s voice makes him nervous – if Alfie comes before he does, all this will have been for nothing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He leans forward as best he can, angling Alfie’s cock against his sweet spot. He yearns for air, but the panic and frustration ratchet his arousal higher. He’s totally at Alfie’s mercy. It’s the ultimate surrender. Alfie could kill him if he wanted to, like this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That shouldn’t arouse him – it’s epically fucked up – but it’s that knowledge that Alfie owns him completely, that he submitted to this willingly, that sends him over the edge. His desperation for air is overtaken by white-hot pleasure, his whole body pulsing with it, so intense that he doesn’t even register as he slips from consciousness. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>* * *</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He awakes to Alfie tickling him gently in borderline obscene places. His hips. The crease of his inner thigh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop that,” he murmurs sleepily, squirming, and registers that the tape over his mouth is gone. The rest remains, still restraining him, but what’s more noteworthy is the distinctive feeling of wetness inside of him. “Did you fucking come in me while I was unconcious?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie shrugs. “You didn’t seem to mind. And I know how you hate waiting.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy feels himself flush. Alfie knows he’s got a weakness for somnophilia. But his body’s not in any condition for further activity right now – everything aches, which he knows will only get worse, and even in the warmth of Alfie’s lap being naked suddenly feels too cold. The cooling sweat all over him doesn’t help. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get me out of these fucking things,” he mutters, tugging at his bound arms for emphasis. Their sustained position behind his back has gotten painful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do I have to, mate? You’re so sweet like this. I could just carry you around and shut you up with my cock whenever I want to.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy narrows his eyes. “Only if you want to sleep on the couch for the rest of your life, Alfie. You don’t have the excuse of your sciatica anymore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, alright. I see your latest lesson in humility didn’t exactly take,” Alfie grumbles, though he presses an affectionate kiss to Tommy’s cheek. “How about I get a nice bath going for you after?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can do it myself,” mutters Tommy, scooting forward so Alfie can begin to unwrap the bondage tape. Despite his earlier complaints, he’s relieved it doesn’t sting like duct tape. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now, hasn’t this little occasion taught you anything?” Alfie scolds. “Accept my loving mercies, ‘fore I put you over my knee.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Loving mercies indeed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Though Tommy must admit: despite the aches and pains, despite the persistent feeling that his lungs have been scrubbed raw, he does feel better. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is the first time he hasn’t thought about work all week.  </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Cruelty</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which cruelty and kindness are intertwined. </p><p>This one's all about edging, but it's surprisingly tender.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Alfie loves torturing Tommy, make no mistake. He likes being cruel, when it’s what Tommy needs. The stubborn little fuck spends so much time building up his armor, he fails to register that armor can be a tomb. It can calcify. Luckily, old Alfie’s there to break it down, and he’s amassed a mighty arsenal of paddles, plugs, and bondage gear with which to do it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And so those moments when Tommy is most proud, when any admission of humanity is an affront to him – and that, in and of itself, is a form of self-defense – Alfie takes great delight in breaking him down like Humpty Dumpty. He relishes that moment when he finally breaks, when he’s sobbing on the bed, cheeks whipped the mortified shade of dark cherries. Because who else will ever see him like this? Who would even believe it, to see his cold-eyed strut the next day? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And afterwards, of course, after that glorious breaking, he’s kind. He’s so very kind, because that’s important too – because the goal isn’t just to get Tommy to break, but to show him that he doesn’t need to be afraid of breaking. Not with Alfie. Alfie might be a cruel man, but he’ll be gentle with all of Tommy’s tender parts, his hidden parts, the heart he keeps trying to hide away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So afterwards, Alfie will wash him and hold him and kiss him until his snide attitude creeps back in, and he’s ready to pretend that none of that ever happened. But he’ll be a little lighter on his feet, a little less weighed down by his own armor. At least until he needs it again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But what surprises him – and Alfie, right, is a difficult person to surprise – is those moments when cruelty and kindness marry. When Tommy, aware of what he needs, is too tired to goad Alfie into a fight let alone give one. So, miracle of all miracles, he comes to Alfie for it, trusting he’ll get what he needs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>One such session occurs when Alfie, his own day long concluded, is in bed, reading. It’s around eleven when the bedroom door swings open, and Tommy ambles in, shedding clothes with uncharacteristic carelessness. He leaves his coat, his waistcoat on the floor, his trousers hanging sloppily off the bed as he crawls towards Alfie, hair sticking up from his forehead in a cowlick and eyes tired. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie sets aside his book preemptively – the chapter he was reading hadn’t been advancing the plot to his liking, anyway. “Hard day at work, sweetheart?” he asks, scooting up as Tommy straddles his lap. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie’s cock is certainly interested in this turn of events, but it’s clear Tommy’s not being purposefully seductive. That much is obvious when he loops his arms round Alfie’s girth and rests his chin on his shoulder, like a baby who’s missed naptime. Huh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s easier to know what to do when Tommy’s being a brat. It’s a challenge then. But he’s fragile right now, and he for some reason trusts Alfie to know what to do. Mildly terrifying, in Alfie’s opinion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Alfie’s never been one to be immobilized by anxiety, yeah, and he trusts his instincts to work for him. He puts his hands under Tommy’s button-down and undershirt, running them up and down his bare back, and feels him shudder against him. So, it’s skin-to-skin contact he wants. Closeness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s get these things off you, then,” Alfie murmurs, undoing Tommy’s shirt buttons. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy offers no complaint, but his eyes are downcast, like he’s ashamed of wanting this. Alfie lets him have his shame. It’s enough, right now, that he’s admitting he wants this at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Soon, he’s naked in Alfie’s lap. Naked in every sense, it would seem. And Alfie’s surprised, even after all this time, by how very warm he is – he seems like he’d radiate cold, like his eyes are windows to a core made of ice. But he’s warm and pink as something freshly born, and he keeps clinging to Alfie, like he’s afraid of being dropped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie wonders what happened today to bring this on. Something to do with family, mostly. Business makes him bristle, his enemies making him puff up, quills on end. Only family can wreck him like this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie sometimes feels murderous impulses towards certain in-laws, but he supposes that’s part of what married life is all about. He wonders if any of them have ever seen Tommy like this. If they know how soft he really is. He decides the answer to that is no.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He reaches between Tommy’s legs and takes him, soft, in his palm. Tommy turns his face to hide against Alfie’s chest, which usually means he wants something very badly. So Alfie cups his head, stroking the velvet-fine hair, and with the hand on Tommy’s cock, begins to work him to slow hardness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He strokes him steadily, till precum begins to leak and the wet sound of Alfie's hand working him is the only thing filling the room. Tommy evidently hears it, because his fists bunch tighter in Alfie’s shirt, kneading the fabric. Alfie kisses the top of his head, and keeps stroking faster. Everything feels more intimate right now, Tommy’s breathing loud in the quiet room, exhaling soft puffs of air that warm the fabric of Alfie’s sleeping shirt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie waits till he feels Tommy start to tense in his arms. Waits till his breathing hitches the way it does right before he comes – and then, Alfie stops. Tommy, his face still pressed into Alfie’s chest like he can somehow hide from this, lets out only a soft sound that’s a bit like a mewl. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It fuels a protective instinct in Alfie, which in Alfie’s case, means he wants to go out and murder something. That’s not a viable option right now – Tommy would probably be pretty upset if Alfie killed his aunt or his brothers or his arsehole cousin or whoever is responsible for this – so instead, he runs his palms over Tommy’s back and holds him close, waiting for his body to calm down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, he takes his cock in his hand, and begins working him again. Both of them know that Alfie’s intention is to stop again once Tommy’s too close to the edge, and to leave him hanging there, clinging to Alfie of all people to stop himself from falling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie is a cruel man, and a possessive man, and he has no problem doing this again and again and again and again and again. Until so much as touching Tommy’s overly sensitive, straining cock is enough to make his entire body hitch, and he can’t touch it for more than ten seconds before he tenses and gasps and is left teetering on the brink of the pleasure his body so desperately wants.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Alfie, wickedly, relishes the fact that Tommy does nothing to stop this torment. Doesn’t even try. Just clings to Alfie, his arms searching for purchase around his neck and shoulders, fingertips digging into his back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie doesn’t relent. He takes as much time as he needs for Tommy to come down from that ledge before he starts touching him again, lightly, with just his fingertips, making Tommy’s cock jump and leak precum. Jacks him just like that, with just his fingers, and the poor boy is so overly sensitized by this point that this alone is enough to bring him to the edge. At which point, of course, Alfie stops. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, he feels dampness in his shirt, and realizes that Tommy is crying. Silently, his face buried in the fabric, his shoulders trembling almost imperceptibly. And Alfie kisses him, everywhere he can reach. Letting him know that he loves him like this. That he doesn’t have to be strong. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would you like to come, sweetheart?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy nods. “Please.” The word, trembling like a teardrop, is the first thing he’s said all evening. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And how can Alfie ignore such a sweet request? But that doesn’t mean he’ll make it easy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He puts his loose fist around Tommy’s cock, and waits for him to understand what he needs to do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes a long time for Tommy’s hips to move, for him to lower himself to hump Alfie’s hand. It starts with just a twitch, an almost involuntary movement, but once he’s started he can’t stop. His hips stutter just three times before he spills, embarrassingly fast, into Alfie’s hand with a sob that he doesn’t even try to conceal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie doesn’t think he’s ever seen him so beautiful, and he tells him as such. Hiding won’t do anymore, so he grabs his face, possessively and unrelentingly, and kisses it, sucking the salty tears from his cheeks, swallowing them. Tommy closes his eyes, unable to look at him. That’s okay. They’ve made a lot of progress tonight, as is. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie would like to get off himself, of course, but that seems rather besides the point. In fact, it might diminish the experience, if he made it into something masturbatory. So instead, he just holds Tommy like this, for a very long time. He only stops once Tommy can look at him again – or rather, doesn’t so studiously avoid his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Better?” Alfie asks, thumbing away a residual tear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy nods, clearly embarrassed. His face is a delicate shade of pink. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it something you want to talk about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thought we just did.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie gives a gruff sound of amusement. So, the little tart hasn’t forsaken his sense of humor, at least.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not right now,” Tommy clarifies. “It’s a hard day for my family. Everyone’s angry, on edge.” He lowers his eyes. “My mother –”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t need to conclude. Alfie understands, quite abruptly, that this is his mother’s birthday, or the anniversary of her death. He knows better than to ask which. “Why didn’t you tell me?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I came to you when I needed it, didn’t I?” Tommy points out. “You said that’s what you wanted.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie just sighs. Tommy looks young right now. He usually does, at times like these. All his armor gone, his hair ruffled, pink and vulnerable. His eyes, wide and searching.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy leans forward then, and Alfie thinks he’s about to go in for a kiss. Instead, he presses his face into the crook of Alfie’s neck, and leaves it there. Alfie lets him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He may be a cruel man. But he can feel awfully soft in moments like this.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Business</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Tommy receives an unusual present from a business associate.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This one's Tommy/Luca, and it's all about phone sex.<br/>I liked exploring Tommy's willingness to be submissive when it helps achieve a greater purpose.<br/>Content warning for some mild sexual coercion, as Luca implies that Tommy has to do this to maintain their business partnership, but it's completely consensual on Tommy's end.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The package arrives from the States. From New York, to be specific. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Judging by its size and weight, it’s not intended to explode upon opening. Judging by its dimensions, it’s probably not a human head or body part, sent as a warning. Which is unlikely anyway, since he’s been backing out of the illegal end of business. Still, he tries to prepare himself for anything as he carefully cuts it open with a boxcutter – only to immediately jolt back, as if the object in the box were indeed a human body part. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not. Though it was designed to emulate one. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What’s in the box is a dildo. An abnormally large dildo, about ten inches long and thick as Tommy’s fist, a vein protruding from its side in a commendable bit of attention to detail. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His first impression is that this is some kind of an insult. That one of his enemies discovered his proclivities, and is using it to mock him. He’s already thinking about counter-strategies – psychological warfare has always been one of his strong suits – as he removes it from it’s packaging, in case there’s anything else inside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sure enough, at the bottom of the box, there is: a note. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Miss doing business with you, Mister Shelby. Call me tonight – long distance. We’ll renew our bargain. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>X,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Luca</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span> Fucking Changretta. Of course he’d send such a demeaning gift. His interpretation that it was an insult wasn’t entirely mistaken, then – it partially was. Changretta had radiated smugness during their time together, delighted that Tommy would take his cock for the sake of a deal. Fortunately, Tommy had been able to use that smugness to his advantage, in the same way he had been able to use Changretta’s obvious attraction to him to his advantage. And if he’d gotten some good cock out of the deal, then that was no one’s business but his own. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy thinks about it now, about being lifted so effortlessly by the much larger man, about being rocked up and down on his cock like he weighed nothing. Tommy looks at the dildo in his hand, heat rising inside of him. No doubt, Luca will want this on hand tonight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anything for business, after all.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>* * *</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> “Mister Shelby.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello, Mister Changretta.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve missed you. Specific parts of you, anyway.” Changretta sounds like he’s talking through a tin can, yet somehow his voice drips with that distinctive mix of condescension and lust. It makes Tommy feel as though Changretta is right here in the room with him. “Where are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy sips his whisky. “England.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See, that mouth. That mouth, I didn’t miss,” Changretta chuckles. “You know what I mean. What part of your house?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Home office. Figured we’d be doing business.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm. Well, I’ve been thinking, Mister Shelby, we’re a long way apart, aren’t we? An ocean apart. And I was thinking to myself, loyalties can drift, can’t they? If they’re not maintained?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy knows where this is going. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m willing to do anything to ensure our partnership is maintained, Mister Changretta. Within reason.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good.” There’s a pause, and Tommy can hear the grin in Changretta’s voice. “Do you have the gift I sent you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do have it.” The dildo sits on his desk, pointing proudly skyward, demanding attention. “I also have lubricant.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now, why would you have lubricant?” Changretta asks, though his voice is now marinated with pleasure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought I might need it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you often need it, Mister Shelby? When conducting business?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sometimes,” Tommy answers honestly. Tommy can always tell when people want him. Almost always. He’s learned to use that to his advantage, and there are very few boundaries he won’t cross for business. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t believe what a little whore you turned out to be. I’d tell people, but no one would believe it. That’s the brilliance of what you do. No one can see past the steel curtains of your reputation.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy downs the rest of his drink – he’ll need it, if Changretta’s planning on going on like this all night. “You seem to like to hear yourself talk, Mister Changretta. Do I have time for a cigarette, or would you like to get down to business?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah. You’re gonna need both hands for this, Tommy.” He can practically hear the curl of Changretta’s lip. There’s a clinking of ice – apparently, Changretta’s drinking, too. “Why don’t you get your pants off, like a good boy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy sighs, but does as he’s told, undoing his belt. Changretta will be easier to control if he thinks he’s in charge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Already done, Mister Changretta,” he says, once his pants and trousers are folded neatly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s a good boy,” Changretta repeats, as though Tommy were an obedient dog. “Now, slick up the dildo with that lube you brought. Get it good and wet. It’s all you’re getting.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy’s surprised by this. “You don’t want me to prep myself?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You seemed to manage when I fucked you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy clenches up in memory of the burn. He knows he can indeed manage, if he can control the pace, but still. What an absolute fucker. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy gets the dildo slick, the phone cupped between his ear and shoulder. He flushes as he pictures taking it all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wanted to get one about the size of my cock,” remarks Changretta. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think that’s a bit self-congratulatory.” Changretta’s cock had been big, enough to make him feel like he was being split open, just not quite as much as the dildo. And he doesn’t want to give the bastard any undue credit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well. If I recall correctly, your tight little ass could barely fit me. Isn’t that right?” At Tommy’s silence, Changretta continues, “I still remember the pretty little sounds you made. You couldn’t keep them in. A natural-born whore.” He pauses. “You get the dildo all lubed up.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” says Tommy. It will have to do. Pretty soon, he’ll be able to sell the liquor business, once the car and racetrack business has grown enough. Until then, Changretta will have to be placated. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then, you know what to do. Line it up with your tight little asshole.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy feels indignant at being spoken to that way, but he reminds himself that it’s for a good cause. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sit on it,” Changretta commands. “I don’t want you to stop until you’ve bottomed out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fucker certainly is demanding today. That’s good. The more control they feel they have, the less they actually have. That’s the whole point of this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy tries to stifle his sounds as he sits down on the massive dildo, but he can’t. He feels he’s being cleaved open, his hole clenching down reflexively and adding to his pain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s what I like to hear,” purrs Changretta, and Tommy remembers he’s still holding the phone to his ear. He knows Changretta will be able to tell, from the absence of his breathing, if he puts it down. “Imagine it’s me you’re sitting on, dirty little whore. How many men have spilled their filth inside your tight little hole? You’re no better than any filthy, street-corner slut.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy suppresses a whimper. He hates himself for being turned on by this, by Changretta’s filthy words. His entire body is tense, trying to reject the foreign object pushing into him. It feels like he’s being fisted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I really feel like you were meant to be a woman. You’re tiny like one. You’ve got an ass like one, a waist like one. A face like one. You wouldn’t last a day in an American jail – you’d wind up everyone’s bitch. Prisoners and guards alike would line up to spit roast you. You’d be bulging with it, leaking with it. And you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy had been to jail, in his teens. His looks had made people underestimate him, made it easier to survive. No one expected the tiny, pretty boy to fight like a rabid animal. He’s not ashamed of his looks – he learned to use them to his advantage, like he’s using them right now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He bottoms out with a groan, his muscles twitching in protest. Everything hurts. His intestines squirm at the intrusion. “What now?” he grits out, into the phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can hear the grin in the bastard’s voice: “Nothing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just let yourself feel it. Tiny little thing, I bet you can see the bulge of it through your flat little tummy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It doesn’t – Tommy’s not sure that’s even physically possible – but the sentiment still makes him squirm. He can picture it a bit too clearly right now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now. Put your hand on your tiny cock. Touch yourself. Get nice and hard.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Changretta sounds like he’s touching himself now, Tommy realizes. The thought makes him prickle with the thrill of his own power – Changretta may think he’s in control, but Tommy’s the one stoking his desire across an entire ocean. So which of them really has more power?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy lets his mind run wild as he strokes himself with a trembling hand, his panicked insides still acclimating to the feeling of extreme fullness. He lets himself imagine the way Luca took him when he was in Birmingham, how he must have looked. And, because the goal here is to enthrall Luca as much as possible, he voices it, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you remember how you fucked me, Mr. Changretta?” he gasps, breathless. “I clung to you like the girth of a tree, bouncing on your cock.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I bounced you, you mean,” Luca corrects him, with smugness. “You weighed almost nothing to me, so I bounced you on my cock and you couldn’t do anything about it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy feels a sharp prickle of irritation. He’d been furious at the time, at the callous, degrading way in which Luca had handled him. Furious, and furiously aroused. But clearly, Luca’s been thinking about it. Good for business, that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want you to fuck yourself like that now,” Luca instructs. “Go on. Fuck yourself on the present I got you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy’s been dreading this, but at least he can control the pace and depth with which he fucks himself. It takes him a minute to find a rhythm that feels pleasurable, lifting himself with trembling legs and dropping himself back down, the dildo rearranging his insides. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you even aware of the pretty sounds you’re making? Just the sound of your breathing could get me off, my love. You sound like a desperate, flustered little whore.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Which is what I am, according to you,” Tommy manages, each word pained. His cock is still hard in his hand, and he’s still touching himself, since Luca hasn’t told him to stop. “What would you do to me if you were here, Mr. Changretta?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy could use his words to get Luca off, granted. But Luca seems to like his own voice, so why do all the work?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d bend your legs back towards your shoulders and I’d watch my cock split your ass,” says Luca. “I’d touch you until you couldn’t suppress your moans, watch your pretty face scrunch up then slacken with pleasure when you come.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck, but Luca does have a clever tongue. Tommy finds himself rocking on the dildo in just such a way that it stimulates his prostate and makes his prick twitch in his hand, because if he’s going to do this for business, he might as well enjoy it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe I’d stick my cock down your throat. You’d take it, wouldn’t you, Tommy? Nothing’s off the table, if there’s enough of a reward. Just like a common prostitute. I’d lay you down on the table, on your back, with your head hanging off the edge – it opens up the throat. And oh, but I’d love to see the bulge of my cock in that pretty throat of yours. Feel it tighten as you choke on my fat dick. You’d probably get so hard, you couldn’t resist touching yourself.” A pause. “Are you still touching yourself, Tommy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t tell me to stop,” Tommy gasps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was a yes or no question, my sweet.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s alright. I know you’re desperate. I like that about you.” Another pause. “Would you like to come?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Mr. Changretta, I would very much like to come.” Tommy knows Changretta’s type, and he knows he’ll be asked to beg. “Please, I’d very much like to come, Mr. Changretta.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What a good little whore.” There’s a Cheshire cat smile in his voice. “Then we’ll come at the same time. Keep touching yourself, and tell me when you’re on the edge.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy rocks on the dildo. He strokes his hand up and down. He imagines himself, in Changretta’s lap – if he were truly helpless, and not just creating the purposeful illusion that he’s helpless. Why does that appeal to him? He doesn’t know. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m about to come, Mr. Changretta,” he manages, because he is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good. So am I. Come for me,” Luca pants, his veneer coming undone at the edges. “Come for me, you dirty, conniving, cock-crazed slut.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Tommy does come. Stroking himself furiously, his whole body tensing around the dildo, pain and pleasure indecipherable. Over the buzzing in his ears, he hears Luca coming to – the effects of his power, a form of power he’s learned all his life to weald. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes him a minute to come down from it, like his spirits returning to his body. Becoming aware of his earthly form – the cum cooling on his hand, the dull pain of the dildo, the rising and falling of his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He takes pleasure in the fact that Luca is also winded, panting heavily into the phone. When he finally speaks, however, his voice manages to be dripping with that signature smugness – and a knowing edge, that makes Tommy wonder if Luca’s more aware of his deception than he’s let on. Maybe he appreciates it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Shelby.”  </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Laughter</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Alfie wants to hear Tommy laugh, and won't take no for an answer.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This one gets a bit niche, with some mild tickle kink. It's more about getting Tommy to open up and lose control, and there's plenty of ~actual~ sex involved, too. And surprisingly, a bit of character development.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It’s been a longtime motivation for Alfie to get Tommy to laugh. Properly laugh, not just the dry little chuckles he occasionally allows himself. He was utterly floored the first time he saw Tommy really, truly smile – eye-crinkling, teeth-showing, eyes sparking. It was gone as quickly as it arrived, a rare and spectacular sight, rather like a unicorn. He imagines a peel of laughter, full laughter, would be a proper religious experience. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The problem is, the harder Alfie tries to get Tommy to laugh, the more he insists on being solemn. As if he can sense Alfie’s goal, and doesn’t want to dignify it with even an eyebrow twitch of amusement. Alfie’s most brilliant and well-told anecdotes, which would raise a cackle from the most grim-faced fucking undertaker, have only yielded an icy glare. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Alfie’s not one to be deterred by Tommy’s frosty veneer. If he can’t use verbal anecdotes to crack through the proverbial ice, then he’s not above fighting dirty. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you ticklish?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy, who had been looking over some presumably important papers, looks up, affronted. “I beg your pardon?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was wondering if you were ticklish,” Alfie repeats, matter-of-factly. “It’s a simple question.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. No, I most certainly am not,” Tommy scoffs, somewhat hastily stacking his paperwork. “I’m not a child.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well. You see, it’s not exactly something you grow out of, is it. It’s a panic response, actually –”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t have time for this. If you need me, I’ll be in the office.” And with that, Tommy vacates the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie’s not sure what he expected, but he’ll take that as a ‘yes.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He first decides to test his theory when they’re lying in bed together. It’s a rare moment of peace, Tommy settled into position as the little spoon, and Alfie almost doesn’t want to ruin it. He tries to pass it off as an accident, albeit a contrived one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whoops. Wanted to read this book, yeah, but I seem to have forgotten to put on my glasses,” he announces, in what sounds even to himself as a rather robotic tone, and proceeds to lean over Tommy to reach for them on the bedside table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>While doing so, he wheedles his fingers into the delicate skin between Tommy’s arm and shoulder. Tommy gives a full-body twitch and a shocked, seemingly involuntary gasp. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t fucking do that,” Tommy snaps, his eyes wide and betrayed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I knew it,” Alfie crows, looming over him like a lion over his prey, brandishing his fingers. “Hold still, sweetie. I’ll make you laugh yet.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Upsettingly, this misguided first attempt does not result in Tommy’s laughter, but in Alfie’s bloody nose. He’s not surprised that the tough little fucker can pack a punch, not one to be fooled by Tommy’s pretty face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was a reflex,” Tommy pseudo-apologizes, dabbing Alfie’s nose with a wet cloth. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. But let it be a message not to fucking try that again.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie winces, tasting the copper of his own blood. “If you laughed more, I wouldn’t be forced to resort to persuasive tactics.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re a fucking idiot. I’ll laugh when I don’t have a business to run and a thousand fucking things on me mind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie pretends to let the subject drop. In reality, he’s just planning his next move. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>* * *</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>See, the trick is, to wait till Tommy’s forgotten about it. Well. Not forgotten about it – Tommy never forgets anything. The trick is to wait till Tommy thinks </span>
  <em>
    <span>Alfie’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> forgotten about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This doesn’t take as much time as one might expect. You see, Tommy is used to operating around people who are, when compared to him, extremely stupid. This results in Tommy chronically assuming that </span>
  <em>
    <span>everyone </span>
  </em>
  <span>is extremely stupid. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the upside, it keeps him from trusting employees too much with extremely sensitive tasks. On the downside, it can make him underestimate people, being a generally patronizing little fucker, and forgetting that he’s living with a man who’s as intelligent and diabolical as he is. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the next day or so, Tommy eyes Alfie warily whenever he gets close to him, scooting to the far end of the sofa or edging towards the nearest exit. Alfie plays dumb. He pretends not to notice. He rambles about other things. And Tommy, used to being underwhelmed by the intelligence and observational abilities of others, swallows it up like a fishhook. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next night, he thinks nothing of it when things start getting a bit heated, and Alfie suggests they incorporate restraints into the mix. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have to work early tomorrow,” is all he protests, as Alfie sucks kisses on his perpetually clean-shaven neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You always have to work early,” Alfie murmurs. “Let me make you feel good. It’ll improve efficiency, yeah, and I know you’re all about that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, Tommy rolls his eyes like he’s doing Alfie the world’s biggest favor, and he holds his arms over his head, allowing them to be cuffed. His prick, Alfie notes, is already chubbing up in pavlovian response to the position. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he follows by binding Tommy’s feet, firmly, to the foot of the bed, he wonders if he’s insane for what he’s about to do. He’s got a beautiful naked man, bound to his bed, right, and all he can think about is hearing him laugh. His bastard-maker of a father would be sorely disappointed with him, that’s for damn sure. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And yet, Alfie feels the same churning arousal, the same desire for ownership, as he does before any scene. It occurs to him, without any actual concern, that this might be the awakening of some kind of bizarre new fetish. Not that Alfie’s complaining, he’s never been provincial about such things.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy, meanwhile, is none the wiser, sure this will be a fairly average night of teasing and fucking. Maybe, at worst, a little edging. His eyebrows arch when Alfie gets out the blindfold. “Is that really necessary?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blindfold is usually reserved for nights when Tommy is particularly stressed and needs to let go. Tommy isn’t any more stressed than usual this evening. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie shrugs, innocently. “Just in the mood for it, is all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He just has time to see Tommy’s eyes narrow skeptically as Alfie takes away his vision. Oh, well. Too late for him to back out now, innit?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There is, as always, an incredible thrill once Tommy is completely helpless. He knows Tommy feels it too, the way his throat bobs, hands flexing. He really is a stunning fucking creature, and Alfie will certainly be fucking him tonight. He just has a very particular goal in mind first.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie settles down next to him, lying on his side. He doesn’t touch him for a minute or two, just letting Tommy feel it, his sensitivity surely ratcheted up by the apprehension. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, he slowly traces a fingertip down Tommy’s side – the tip of his nail. It makes Tommy flinch, and suppress a sound. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t protest, until Alfie does it again. “Alfie. What the fuck are you doing?” There’s a note of panic in his voice that tells Alfie he’s already figured it out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told you, I want to hear you laugh, sweetheart. Fucking ridiculous, it is, that we’ve been together long as we have and I’ve never properly heard it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie’s torturous fingertip continues its caress, and Tommy inhales sharply.  “Alfie. If you even so much as</span>
  <em>
    <span> think</span>
  </em>
  <span> about –” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“S’like you’re hiding something from me, innit? And I don’t like you hiding things from me. Because, you see, I own you, which means I own every part of you. I own your laughter, Tommy, and I want to hear it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy takes a deep breath, already slightly shaky. He says, with some clear effort, “You’re not going to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not?” Alfie asks, purposefully mocking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. And I don’t have to justify why.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, that’s a challenge if Alfie’s ever heard it. And he’s never been one to back down from a challenge. He looks down Tommy’s naked, quivering form to his bare, twitching feet. As good a place to start as any. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wordlessly – because that kind of makes things worse, doesn’t it, when you’re already helpless and restrained and unable to see – he knee-walks to the foot of the bed. Now, contrary to popular belief, Alfie does have standards, and he’s under the firm belief that most feet are nasty and have no place near anyone’s mouth. However, Tommy’s clean to the point of obsession, scrubbing each nail and crevice during every bath, and even his socks smell like lilac. So Alfie only hesitates a moment before grabbing one of Tommy’s feet, firmly, and taking his toes into his mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy’s entire chest arches off the bed, his surprise more than evident, and he bites off a high-pitched sound of visceral, animal panic. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Alfie,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” he manages, twisting futilely, the words ground out. He’s clearly pissed off to no end by the entire situation, but, well. It’s not like he can do anything about it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie can still taste the soap between Tommy’s toes from his recent bath – almost as if he prepared for this – as he laves ruthlessly at the sensitive flesh, tormenting it with the tip of his tongue. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He relishes Tommy’s reactions, as he twists and writhes with suppressed noises, chewing on his lower lip. Every so often, he’ll bark out a few syllables: “You fucking disgusting –” “Bastard, I’ll kill –” “Unhygenic –” But he can never complete the thought, his voice taut as a rope and uncharacteristically high. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy’s chest eventually starts to shake, practically trembling with barely contained laughter. His face has gone the bright pink of raspberries, his chest blotchy with it, presumably a combination of embarrassment and sustained effort. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But for more interesting – to Alfie, at least – is the manner in which Tommy’s cock has taken an interest in this. It’s mostly hard, tipped against his hip, bobbling as he squirms. Well. It seems like Alfie’s not the only one who’s discovered a newfound fetish this evening. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie pulls off of Tommy’s toes with an obscene wet pop, and reaches forward to prod his erection. “You like this,” he remarks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy’s panting, his fingertips shaking visibly from the sustained effort. “I absolutely do not fucking like this,” he manages, but does that thing Alfie loves, where he turns his head to try and hide in the crook of his arm. Which means he absolutely does like this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, some part of you fucking likes this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re sucking on my foot like it’s a cock, Alfie. It’s a reflex, a confused reaction on the part of –” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie cuts him off by taking Tommy’s other foot into his mouth, using his lower teeth to rake over the underside of his toes. Tommy’s entire body bows up with the tension of remaining silent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which of course means it’s time to introduce his secret weapon: the hairbrush. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Originally a passive-aggressive present from Tommy – who always needles Alfie about getting his hair and beard under control – it primarily serves as a spanking implement. Now, Alfie uses it for another kind of torture entirely, sawing its bristles hard and fast on the tender undersides of Tommy’s feet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The reaction is immediate: Tommy, who has no way of knowing what the hairbrush is and couldn’t see it coming, actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>screams</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Squeals, really, a high-pitched and frankly hilarious sound. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alfie!” And here, Alfie knows he’s already won, because the word is crackling with breathy, borderline hysterical laughter. What a lovely fucking sound. “What the fuck – what the fuck is that!?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie once again pulls off, the implement of his mouth no longer needed. “It’s a giant centipede, my love. I found it under the bed.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No it’s not,” Tommy cackles, arching furiously against his restraints. But Alfie can tell that the mental visual has gotten to him, by the panicked edge to his voice. “It’s – it’s that fucking hairbrush, isn’t it!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Clever boy, figuring that out. Here’s a reward for you.” He scrubs even harder, making Tommy dissolve into writhing, crackling, uncontrollable laughter that he can no longer repress. The dam has burst, and it’s fucking beautiful. “Why, my darling, you just have the sweetest laugh. Fucking rude, making me wait this long to hear it. You really ought to be punished.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thought I was being –” Tommy hiccups out – “thought I was being rewarded.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who says they can’t be the same thing?” Alfie tosses the brush aside, shimmying up to straddle Tommy’s hips. He happens to know that the crease between Tommy’s soft inner thighs and his pelvis is particularly sensitive, and going on instinct, he drills his thumbs into it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop that!” Tommy snaps, but laughter is already spilling out like champaign. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, I don’t think I will. Maybe if you beg I’ll consider it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“FU-HU-HUCK OFF!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, that will never do. Alfie, who’s bypassing all sorts of boundaries today, instead lies down on top of Tommy and begins nibbling and sucking at the tender area between Tommy armpit and pectoral, his thumbs digging into Tommy’s tender inner thighs all the while. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sounds this elicits are more beautiful than anything Alfie could have possibly imagined, high and desperate as clanging windchimes, interspersed with curses and threats that slowly devolve into pleas for mercy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the end, it’s not because Tommy’s begging that Alfie stops, or because his laughter begins to more resemble tortured-sounding, desperate sobs. Alfie’s not benevolent enough for that. Instead, it’s because he decides there are other things to do with a bound, squirming, naked Tommy besides tickle him, and because he realizes that his own cock is aching from Tommy writhing against him all this time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can be a gentle lover, though, and he rewards Tommy by fucking him sweetly and carefully. It’s practically a religious experience, since Tommy’s still bubbling over with phantom laughter, twitching and overly sensitive from his prolonged torment, and occasionally gasping out insults that don’t make a lot of sense.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fucking son of a bastard,” he huffs, voice cracked, writhing around Alfie’s cock as he rocks shallowly into him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sssh.” Alfie kisses his hot, tear-salty cheeks. “You’re beautiful. Your laughter is beautiful.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up, I’m not, it’s not. It’s fucking not –” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is, and it’s mine. Every part of you is mine, and I won’t have you hiding from me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy comes shortly after that, a warm hand around his cock and Alfie rocking persistently against his sweet spot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s sated and boneless and strangely pensive as Alfie frees him from his bonds, limbs flopping on the bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Only after Alfie’s held him a while, nose pressed to the back of his neck and hand stroking his hair, does he finally talk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It feels wrong.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What feels wrong, sweetie?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It feels wrong to laugh, after everything I’ve been a part of. It’s always felt wrong, even when I was a kid.” He pauses, throat clicking faintly as he swallows. “So much was going wrong. So much suffering all around me. Even being happy, it felt – heavy, with just this sense of guilt. My family needed me. I couldn’t waste time being a kid.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie thinks for a moment. “Well.” Alfie presses a kiss to the back of his neck. “I suppose we’ll have to make up for that now, won’t we?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy huffs. “I have so much to do, Alfie. My family –” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You fucking deserve to be happy, Tom. You deserve to be happy, as much as any of them. You’re worth every bit as much as any one of them.” He senses Tommy is about to protest. “Oy! Do I need to spank you on top of everything else this evening?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s enough to get Tommy to shut up. For now, at least.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alfie?” Tommy murmurs, sleepily. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, love?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you ever do that to me again, I’ll fucking shoot you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie wraps his arms around Tommy, pulling him tighter. “We’ll see.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Jewel</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A threesome between Tommy, Alfie, and Tatiana. </p><p>I have a lot of thoughts about Tatiana's characterization and what I'd do differently (I don't care for the exoticism and fetishization of Eastern European women, for example) and this fic's not nearly long enough to contain it all, but I still had so much fun with this.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Alfie and the Russian, Tatiana, got off to a fairly bad start. For one thing, she’s of noble descent, and Alfie’s family doesn’t exactly have the best history with Russian nobility. For another, Tommy flirted with her to get funding for one of his latest charities, which would have been all well and good if he’d cleared it with Alfie first.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie gave him a good seeing-to that night – his backside had gone from embarrassing, cherry red to a morose shade of purple over the course of the week, and he was no doubt reminded of his bad behavior every time he sat down. Because Alfie’s a bit of a bastard, he pinched and slapped Tommy’s abused cheeks more than usual that week, just to watch him wince. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the thing is, they keep running into Tatiana after that. She seems to take part in a lot of charities, not that it says a lot about her moral alignment – some of the biggest bastards take part in charity, as a form of overcompensation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Every time Tommy sees her, he visibly replays his punishment in his head, going bashful as a schoolboy. His eyes dart down uncharacteristically, his ears even go a bit pink, as if the girl has some way of knowing how he was disciplined. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe she does, given how she smirks, casting Alfie what he’d describe as a knowing glance. She clearly likes the sudden shift in their dynamic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You should kiss my hand when you see me, Mister Shelby,” she announces, when they encounter one another again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy’s poker face is admirable, but there are cracks in his veneer: his neck turns red, and his eyes dart to Alfie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, treacle,” Alfie decides, surprising even himself. “Where’d your manners go? Kiss the lady’s hand.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy’s eyes flick down, and he obeys. Alfie and Tatiana lock eyes, in a silent, unspoken agreement, like two members of the same species recognizing one another for the first time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>* * *</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>While Tommy’s off convening with some pompous-looking local politicians, Alfie finds Tatiana again. They fall into place beside one another, wordlessly observing the steely-eyed little prince go to work, pulling the poncy bastards into the orbit of his charisma. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re a very lucky man, Mister Solomons,” is the first thing Tatiana says. She glances at Alfie, casual and assessing. She’s doe-eyed, but Alfie can see a sharp intelligence behind those irises. “Do you share?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie’s unused to such bluntness. He’s rather impressed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Within reason,” Alfie concedes. May joined them for Tommy’s most recent birthday, and he already plans on inviting her again. “He’s mine – let’s make that clear. Don’t get any ideas about challenging my ownership.” Since they’re being so forthright with one another, Alfie decides not to bother with the pretence of a verbal filter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She blinks innocently, tilting her lovely head. “I would never do such a thing, Mister Solomons. It’s crass to disrespect someone else’s property.” She sips her champagne, dainty in her manicured fingers. “My people aren’t monsters, Mister Solomons, despite misconceptions of such. I know how to behave as a guest.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good,” Alfie growls, an unexpected respect for this woman growing inside of him. “In that case, yes, Miss Petrovna. Yes, I do share. Especially when it’s enjoyable for me, which I get the sense it would be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her eyes brighten with satisfaction. “We’ll set something up, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think that would be enjoyable for all of us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They shake on it. He hasn’t consulted Tommy yet, but he knows he’ll be thrilled.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>* * *</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When it happens, yeah, it’s rather fucking bullying. Tatiana is surprisingly soft – almost maternal, really – but she proves her mettle in her own way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie holds Tommy firmly in his lap, his arms bound behind his back, as Tatiana kneels before him and takes the glistening tip of his cock into her mouth, hands stroking gently, always moving. In between sucking, licking, teasing, her words cascade out of her mouth and over him like warm water.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A beautiful whore, Mister Shelby, should always be treated like a precious jewel,” she informs him. “And I was taught to treat jewels well. So I won’t beat you, Mr. Shelby. There are gentler ways to break you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy can’t say anything to this at all, since he’s gagged with a pretty red ball that stretches his lips nicely. He struggles a bit in Alfie’s arms, always keen to rail against gentleness – at least at first – despite the fact that he agreed to this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie is fascinated, for once keen to observe with little comment. He thumbs Tommy’s nipples like the strings of a guitar, then moves his hands down to Tommy’s hips to grind them gently down onto his own erection, as if Tommy were a sex toy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She brings Tommy right to the edge with her gentle touches, her gentle mouth, as pink on the inside as a wet cunt. She bats her eyelashes up at him, doe-eyed and innocent. When Tommy tenses up in that distinctive way that indicates his release, she pulls back. Her lips breath hot puffs of air onto the tip of his pulsing cock, connected to her mouth by an obscene string of saliva. Tommy writhes, giving a snarling grunt that tapers off into a whimper. Alfie’s a bit jealous – normally, he has to edge Tommy a few times before he’ll make such pretty sounds. Maybe Alfie will use his mouth next time, too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As I said, you are a whore, Mr. Shelby. And I will make you come like a whore.” She looks to Alfie. “Will you put your husband on the bed, Mr. Solomons?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d be glad to,” says Alfie, though he has no idea what Tatiana has in mind. He tosses Tommy on the bed, none too gently – the mattress is soft, after all – and he rolls over to glare up at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie ruffles his already tousled hair. “Knew you’d enjoy yourself, love.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tatiana, in his periphery, is retrieving something from her bag. When Alfie looks over, he has to do a double-take at the large dildo Tatiana is strapping around her dainty waist. It’s as thick as a cola bottle, and it must be nearly ten inches. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Spread your legs, Mr. Shelby,” she instructs. “Be a good whore.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy’s eyes are wide as he regards the dildo – no one, not even Alfie, was expecting this – but keeps his legs firmly closed and his gaze hardens into defiance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Very well.” She reaches into her bag, and retrieves a tube of lubricant, squirting it generously onto the dildo and slicking it up. The squelching sound is obscene. “I was going to loosen your cunt, Mr. Shelby, but because you’re being a disobedient little whore, all you’ll get is lube.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy’s throat bobs as he swallows, clearly regretting his decision. Alfie crawls up onto the bed behind Tommy, for a better view. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will give you another option. You can spread your legs, or I will have your husband do it for you, and hold them like that as I fuck you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy looks up at Alfie, as if hoping he’ll challenge her. But Alfie only smiles smugly down at him. “I’d be glad to, darling,” Alfie informs him, petting his hair. “Anything to be of help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy, seeming to wish to avoid this outcome, averts his eyes. His legs spread, as if on their own accord. Tatiana tilts her head, inspecting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wider,” she instructs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His entire chest shutters with irritation and mortification at his predicament – and arousal, if his prick is any indication. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tatiana crawls towards him, a hunger in her huge brown eyes that make Alfie think of a deer who’s suddenly discovered a taste for meat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tonight, Mr. Shelby, I am the man, and you are the woman,” she informs him. “And I will fuck you like a woman.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>* * *</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Tommy comes, he comes like a woman. He can’t escape from that fact. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His legs – shaven by Alfie in preparation for this endeavor – wrapped around her waist, like his female lovers used to do when he fucked them, gently and slowly. Which was how Tatiana fucked him: gently and slowly, in stark contrast to the huge dildo splitting his hole and making him feel like he’s about to be cleaved in two. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His head is in Alfie’s lap, and he can feel the bastards eyes on him, hungry yet absurdly loving. One of Alfie’s large hands cups Tommy’s face, the other stroking his hair, caressing, absurdly gentle. He wishes they’d stop treating him so delicately, but he can’t escape, and his orgasm tightens around him like a noose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, he spills between them without even a hand on his cock – just the persistence of Tatiana’s dildo against his prostate, nudging him – gently, inescapably – over the edge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He writhes between them as he spills his hot release on Tatiana’s stomach, and his own. His jaw forced open by the gag, he can’t suppress his own sounds. High as the tweaking of violin strings. Pathetic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s worse that Alfie’s stroking his hair, shushing him gently, telling him he’s “beautiful,” and “fucking perfect.” But even in the aftermath, as he comes down from it, panting, he feels lightened, like something heavy has left him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tatiana pulls out, leaving his hole feeling slack and empty. She kisses his cheek. “You are a perfect whore yet, Mr. Shelby.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Oratory</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Alfie discovers Tommy likes to suck on things. </p><p>This one's all about Tommy's oral fixation. I was largely inspired by the observations of the incomparable MintJam.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Alfie discovered the glorious possibilities of Tommy’s oral fixation quite by accident. He was being rather creepy, yeah, if he’s being honest about it, staring at his husband while he was sleeping and contemplating the strange, impossible beauty of his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A bit of drool glistened on Tommy’s lower lip, oddly tantalizing. Alfie, being the creeper he was, decided to thumb it back inside. And that’s when it happened. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The minute his thumb was in Tommy’s mouth, Tommy started sucking. With the fervor of a newborn fucking lamb, and, it would seem, purely reflexive. Alfie was stunned. Assuming it was a fluke, right, he kept expecting Tommy to wake up, or to stop, but he seemed perfectly fucking content, like Alfie’s thumb was right in its natural fucking habitat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His mouth was hot and wet as a virgin cunt, and Alfie’s cock stirred in its trousers, but he was too proper fucking flabbergasted to do anything about it. He wanted to see how long this would last, how long Tommy would keep suckling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The answer, it turned out, was almost an hour, before Tommy’s mouth went slack, as if he’d had his fill. But he didn’t reject the fingers in his mouth, so Alfie left them there, bewildered, until he, too, fell asleep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still processing this interesting new discovery, and what he could now do with it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>* * *</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Of course, Alfie does it again. Because he has no regard for personal boundaries, and because he’s starting to realize how earth-shatteringly fucking delightful it is to have the great Tommy Shelby sucking on his thumb in sleep like a newborn. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It calms him down, Alfie discovers. When the miniature fucking disaster is tossing and turning, muttering in his sleep, Alfie can simply put his thumb to Tommy’s lips and he’ll start sucking reflexively and with fervor. It settles him immediately.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It strikes Alfie how innocent he can still manage to look, and it melts his heart a bit to know that Tommy gets comfort from something so childishly pure. But of course, Alfie is a devilish man, and having Tommy unknowingly sucking on his extremities while he’s at his most vulnerable provokes impure thoughts and stirrings in his loins. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He has the impulse to try and replicate it with his cock, but he knows that the feral little beast is a biter. He doesn’t need a second circumcision.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No, he’ll store this information away, until the time is right.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>* * *</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What the fuck were you thinking? Don’t you know that you could have gotten killed?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I didn’t get fucking killed, did I.” Tommy aggressively shrugs off his coat, betraying his annoyance at Alfie’s questioning. “I made a deal, and it looks like it will be quite a lucrative one. It turns out he wanted to sell the company anyway – the life isn’t for everyone, it would seem.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s weeks later, and they’re having an argument. Tommy decided that a new avenue of business for Shelby Company Limited was worth waltzing into the office of a famously ruthless ganglord turned businessman without reinforcements of any kind. By sheer luck, it turned out that the man had mellowed significantly since his retirement, his greatest passion being bonsai trees.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, you made a deal, but he could have just as easily shot you. Fuck, Tommy, I thought you were moving away from this kind of thing!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am.” Tommy shrugs off his gun holster. “But when a new opportunity presents itself, Alfie, I’ll never be the sort to pass it up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie folds his arms and widens his stance. “Even at the cost of your own life?” His tone makes it clear that Tommy should choose his answer wisely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, the little bastard juts his chin defiantly. “Maybe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie shakes his head, and walks over to that drawer of toys. “If it was a spanking you needed, sweetie, you should have just said.” When he turns around, he has the loopy johnny in his hand. “Now, bend over the bed, before I make you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy apparently contemplates his options, and then, quite abruptly, starts for the door. So it’s going to be that kind of evening, is it? He knows full well how deceptively fast Alfie can be, and which one of them is the stronger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Within minutes, Tommy is bent over the bed, Alfie holding one of his arms bowed halfway up his back to keep him from squirming too much as he wrestles his trousers down. “If you count, I’ll give you twenty-five. But if you want to continue to be a little brat, I’ll give you fifty.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Adja poo kar,” Tommy says, pretending to forget that Alfie knows how to say </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck off</span>
  </em>
  <span> in every language.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fifty it is, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie gets the idea about halfway through, as Tommy’s body shudders with adrenaline and he twists and swears, his voice increasingly ragged. But again, he waits for the right time to act on it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Afterwards, Tommy’s poor arse has once again been reduced to a mess of raised, bright red streaks, overlapping like ribbons. He smooths Tommy’s back as he shudders and sniffs on the bed, his face buried in the crook of his free arm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seems like as good a time to ask as any. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You ever suck your thumb, Tom?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy’s head jerks up, as if in alarm. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your thumb. Have you ever sucked it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy gives a wet scoff. “How is it any business of yours if I sucked my thumb as a child?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because –” Alfie wedges his foot preemptively between Tommy’s knees, kicking them apart – “I want you to suck it for me now. As I fuck you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck you, Alfie,” Tommy half-spits, half-scoffs, but shuts up awful quick when the loopy johnny taps his balls. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For each time you say no,” Alfie informs him, “I’ll hit you here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He holds out an impressively long time – five strokes to the jewels with a loopy johnny are no picnic, and Alfie almost feels bad at the choked off sobs each lash elicits. He’s about to give him a sixth, when he notices Tommy has gone suddenly quiet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he looks up, Tommy’s hand is hidden under his head, his face turned towards the bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie grabs him by the hair and drags his head up, and he’s greeted by the delectable sight of a furious Tommy Shelby sucking his thumb. His eyes are tear-wet, furious daggers, and his cheeks hollow around his thumb as he sucks more fervently than a grown man should. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie needs to fuck him. Now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This position isn’t nearly intimate enough, so instead he rolls Tommy on his side, holding one leg in the air. Tommy’s cock is, unsurprisingly, already hard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He fucks him like that for a while – Tommy on the bed, Alfie on the floor, Tommy’s icy glare softening as he’s soothed by his own oral fixation and the shallow thrusts of Alfie’s hips. Suddenly, this ain’t enough, either. Alfie’s overtaken with the urge to hold him, an almost maternal fucking impulse, which is a bit twisted, right, in the context of what they’re doing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he rearranges once again. When Tommy comes, they’re both on their side, Alfie spooning Tommy from behind and rocking him gently on his cock. Alfie cranes his neck to see his face, now thoroughly blissed out, like a kitten high on catnip. The mere sight of him like this causes Alfie to come with a full-body groan. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>* * *</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How did you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’ve since gotten cleaned up and dressed in some sleeping clothes, but they’ve recreated the pose Alfie fucked him in: Tommy the little spoon, Alfie running his fingers through his hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, it’s no mystery that you have an oral fixation, sweetie. Always something in your mouth, feeding the oratory fantasies of men and women alike.” Alfie pauses. “And also, you suck on things in your sleep.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy gives a scoff – more of a puff of air, really. He seems sated in a very particular way this evening. “I haven’t sucked my thumb since I was three. Me mother, she’d slap me when she caught me doing it. It was kinder than what my father would have done, or what the other children would have done, if I’d kept the habit.” He swallows, a soft clicking of his throat. “Tender things die quickly in Birmingham. It was for the best that I killed it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie thinks of saying something, but instead, he somewhat rudely stuffs his thumb into Tommy’s mouth. Tommy jolts a bit, surprised and probably indignant, but Alfie’s thumb doesn’t withdraw. After a minute, it’s like a switch has been flicked: Tommy’s whole body relaxes against Alfie, melting into him as he starts to suck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie kisses the back of his neck. “There’s tenderness alive in you yet, sweetheart.” </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Frozen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Ada thinks her brother is cold, until she follows him to the stable one night and sees something she shouldn't.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Featuring Tommy/Freddie. </p><p>This...really doesn't even belong in kinktober, because it's so character-driven and weirdly literary in tone. I'll probably include it in my latest update of the "Gangster Idiots in Love" AU, so consider it a sneak preview.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Ada knew that Tommy was becoming a cold boy. Ice-eyed and quiet, with an otherworldly stare that could shake even their brute of a father to his ugly core. The older he got, the more he cultivated this frost, the less he smiled and giggled, the less he spoke. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She didn’t understand yet that it was meant to protect them. She just wanted her brother back – she remembered playing ponies with him when they were both little, the way she laughed with surprise when the boy – not much bigger than she was – could lift her with such ease. He never complained when she knotted her fingers in his hair as he galloped around the room with her shrieking on his back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course, she was a bit old for playing ponies now. He was still soft with Finn, and she tried not to be jealous – she knew that would be pathetic – as he jiggled and swayed the baby, stopping him from crying as no one else could, speaking to him in the same soft, Romany phrases that their mother used to use.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She clung to them, these rare moments of softness and warmth. Since their mother died, the world had gotten so much colder. Even if she hadn’t acted like a mother in a long, long time. It was as if she died, she’d taken Tommy’s warmth with her. As if a part of him had died, too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She took to following him to the stables. She liked watching him visit the horses, pet their soft noses, murmur softly in their ears. Besides with Finn, it was the only time he acted like himself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>* * *</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The moon was blotted behind fog as she crept out to the stable one night. Tommy had gone there moments before – it was imperative not to follow him too closely, he always noticed. But she was reasonably assured he didn’t notice now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The grass was wet beneath her feet where it sprung from between cobblestones, and for a moment, this ugly world felt almost beautiful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she crept into the stable, footsteps silenced by hay, she was surprised to hear Tommy talking to someone. Not the horses – he had a very specific tone he used for them, and anyway, he seldom spoke to them in English – but another human being. Ada crouched behind two hay bales, and peered out from the tiny gap in between, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkened stables. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...And Arthur’s just blinded by what he thinks is his duty,” Tommy was saying. “He doesn’t understand that being a leader takes more than just strength. You have to pay attention to things. Humble yourself, when necessary.” He sounded tired. “When you’re a leader, you come last.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ada’s eyes had adjusted, and she saw he was talking to a tall, gangling figure sitting on a hay bale with his back to her. “And I suppose you only know that from being the leader, eh, Tom?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ada wasn’t surprised it was Freddie. He and Tommy were always close, so much so that she often got jealous – she wasn’t sure of whom. Her brother had been a rare, stable presence and source of warmth in her life, until he started shutting himself off to the world. And Freddie...well, there’d been a couple moments that made her and Freddie more than friends. A kiss on the corner of the mouth that lingered. Dandelions picked from the gutter. Sitting half-naked together after swimming in the canal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dad isn’t coming back,” Tommy continued, and perhaps Ada should have felt some remorse about that. But she’d never had a relationship with her father. He even forgot she was there sometimes, referring exclusively to the boys as his only children. “So yeah, I’m the leader. And that means I’m going to have to be heartless. I have to be a cold wall of ice between them, my family, and the world out there. What I want is going to have to come second, or not at all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This, though – this sent ice through Ada’s chest. Because it explained so much about what had been going on with Tommy lately. And it made her realize that this change had been something deliberate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wanted to cry out – to run to him, and tell him that he didn’t have to, that he didn’t have to do this. But Freddie was talking again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now. You don’t seem so cold to me, Tommy boy.” She wasn’t taken aback by his tone – he often used this tone with Tommy, affectionately condescending – but she absolutely wasn’t prepared for him to grab Tommy by the belt and tug him closer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Freddie.” Tommy looked over his shoulder, as if sensing that there was an observer. Too bad he was looking in the wrong direction. “I have to get back.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No you don’t. You’re just afraid,” said Freddie, and Ada thought she could see him thumbing over the fly of Tommy’s trousers. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What the hell</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “Why don’t you sit on my lap, and I’ll show you just how warm you can be?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ada’s stomach clenched as she waited for Tommy to punch Freddie in the face. Debated whether she should intervene during the beating that would surely follow. Poor Freddie – all the Shelby brothers would be turned on him for this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then, Tommy sat down. On Freddie’s lap. Ada was most surprised that her jaw didn’t hit the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can’t keep doing this, Freddie,” Tommy murmured, wrapping his arms around Freddie’s shoulders, the way a woman might hold her beau. “It isn’t right. Ada – she loves you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ada felt oddly apathetic towards the mention of her own name. Maybe it was the shock of the situation, but she felt little connection to it at the moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I love her. I also love you,” said Freddie. “Why shouldn’t I be able to have both?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then, he tilted his head in such a way that Ada knew they were kissing. Gentle, like deer in the woods. Her fearsome, cold-hearted brother, shy in his lap. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ada nearly yelped with surprise when Freddie flipped them both over, so Tommy was underneath him. She flattened herself close to the ground, afraid of being spotted, but they were too preoccupied with each other. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You always wanted too much, Freddie,” Tommy sighed, oddly exasperated. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re one to talk.” He gathered Tommy’s wrists in his hands and pinned them above his head, leaning on them to keep them there. “Never grew much past eleven, did you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy turned his head to the side, even as his legs wrapped, seemingly instinctively, around Freddie’s waist. “Fuck off. You know I could end you in a fight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm, I know from experience. It’s the little ones you’ve got to watch out for, I suppose.” Freddie nuzzled into the side of Tommy’s neck. “Wish I could see you blush, Tom. It’s quite a sight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ada realized how heavily she was blushing herself, her face hot. It felt wrong to be watching this. She was by no means innocent, and she knew exactly where this was going – even though it was difficult to believe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She began crawling, on all fours, towards the door, careful not to disturb any of the hay that was keeping her motions silent. She didn’t risk standing until she was around the corner, out of view, out in the cold night air. Her heart was pounding in her ears. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She had the strangest impulse to go back inside, and wondered what the hell was wrong with her. Obviously, it was an impossibility to go back in, and wrong besides. But she couldn’t help but feel a sense of loss. She might never see Tommy like that again. Warm again, vulnerable and open-hearted as he’d been as a boy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe she should have been jealous, felt proprietary over Freddie. She didn’t. Maybe because she knew, deep down, that Tommy wouldn’t keep Freddie. He’d give him to her, as if he were already dead and desired nothing. But Ada knew better. She’d seen it tonight.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. A Good Girl</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>This one's all about feminization.  </p><p>As seems to be a recurring theme, I derived inspiration from Mintjam, and her latest two chapters of "Mistakes." As well as my own personal love of feminization, which is basically kryptonite for me.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Tommy’s not sure why he lets Alfie get away with it.  The things Alfie asks him to do, makes him do, tells him to do.  The mere insinuation of such things, from anything else, would cost them their eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And yet, when Alfie tells him to shave himself smooth – his legs, his crotch, everything – all he does is flush and glare, until Alfie threatens to do it for him if he doesn’t comply.  Alfie ends up doing it anyway – he claims that Tommy wasn’t doing a thorough enough job – and makes Tommy twist and pivot so he can get every crevice.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s humiliating, in a horribly intimate way that makes Tommy feel like Alfie’s tenderly peeling his skin off.  And it’s not even the first time that Alfie’s done this to him.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Each time this happens, each time Alfie brings him to some new low, some part of Tommy’s brain screams at him to kill the bastard, to fell him like a tree, like the many brawny fuckers Tommy brought down over the years for treating him like anything less than a man. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But instead, he lets Alfie oil him down with something that smells like hyacinths, rubbing it into his newly baby-soft skin.  “Beautiful,” Alfie murmurs, and Tommy’s chest squeezes pathetically. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He feels even more disgusted with himself as Alfie’s still-slick hands work him gently to hardness, handling his cock as though it were a fucking faberge egg.  He hates how quickly it fills, bobbling delicately between them like an exclamation point.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slowly, gently, Alfie begins to stroke, his hand an oily wet glide over Tommy erection.  His eyes are filled with hunger – predatory, churning, so fierce that Tommy has to dart his eyes away.  He would never back down from a disdainful stare, but it frightens him to be the object of such a powerful desire.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His chest hitches as Alfie inches him torturously to his orgasm, even though he knows that with Alfie, it’s never that simple.  Alfie always makes him work for it, makes him surrender something for it.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sure enough, Alfie retracts his hand, and he has to stop himself from humping the air.  “Not yet.”  Alfie kisses his lips, the tenderness of the gesture in juxtaposition with the cruelty that’s sure to follow.  “Good little girls wait till they have something inside of them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy flushes at that, with embarrassment and anger and white-hot shame and pure want, and he still dutifully follows Alfie as he leads him by his cock over to the bed.  He sits when he’s told, shooting an Alfie his famous, icy glare.  It’s ignored like it means nothing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Put these on.”  Alfie tosses him one of the many pairs of oft-ruined panties he buys for him.  “And I’ll</span>
  <em>
    <span> think</span>
  </em>
  <span> about letting you come.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy wonders why the hell he lets Alfie get away with this.  He wonders as he tugs on the panties, his erection impossible to conceal.  The head pokes out through the waistband, wet and obscene, and his face burns searingly.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wonders as Alfie – now clothed in boxers and a sleeping shirt, making this somehow even more degrading – tugs him into his lap.  He wonders as he watches Alfie oil up his fingers, knowing exactly where those fingers are going to go. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wonders as Alfie fingers him torturously, neglecting his aching cock in favor of tormenting his sweet spot, stretching out his delicate insides.  The words are worse, murmured in his ear:  “Good little girl, aren’t you, letting Daddy do this.  This is what you want, yeah?  Fingers in your wet little cunt, giving you the attention you clearly so desperately crave?  Yeah, I fucking know it is, my dirty, pretty little devil.  You bewitch my dreams like a fucking Succubus, so you’ll fucking well take what I give you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy’s writhing in his lap by the time he finally comes, desire and shame coursing down every nerve ending, fully aware that he’s been made to come like a cheap tart on Alfie’s fingers.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wonders why he lets Alfie do this to him.  Then, Alfie kisses him – gently, so gently, and more tender than any of Tommy’s lovers have ever been before.  Like Tommy is something precious and porcelain.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lets Alfie do this, because he loves him.  And though Tommy will seldom admit it, to himself or anyone else, because he loves every minute of it.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Stress</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>This one's all about tease, denial, and a surprising amount of fluff.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Tommy’s stressed out of his mind, and it’s evoking something similar to stress in Alfie. Every time he settles in to read a nice book, the little thing buzzes into the room, muttering Rokka-English pigeon, shuffling up papers and ruffling Alfie’s pleasant mood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For fuck’s sake, what’s bothering you?” he eventually asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A lot of things,” Tommy mutters, rummaging through drawers. “Giving everyone responsibilities is meant to make the business function more smoothly. Instead, it just means I have to do everything myself, after I fix what they mess up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie considers this, rubbing his beard as Tommy leaves the room in a little whirlwind of papers. Not healthy, that amount of stress, not for anybody. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe he can come up with a clever way to help him relax.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>* * *</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I should be working. Not watching fucking films,” Tommy huffs, watching Alfie fuss with their TV. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now, now. Nobody, right, can work all hours of the day,” Alfie reminds him, settling back on the couch with the remote. “Not even you, my dear little automaton. It’ll free your mind if you take two hours to relax.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy knows better than to argue. It feels strange to be in the living room wearing his sleeping clothes – he’s never been one to sit around watching films, but when Alfie puts one on, it’s usually in their bedroom. Being out here in the open, in his soft sleeping shirt and pajama bottoms, feels oddly vulnerable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, what are we watching?” he asks, rubbing his own arms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie regards him, amused. “Little film called </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Secretary. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Heard it’s charming. The more important thing is, why on earth are you sitting all the way down there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy tilts his head. He’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>far away from Alfie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie pats his lap, and his meaning becomes clear. “Sit here, love. Let dear old Alfie make you feel warm and cozy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy’s eyes can’t help but gravitate towards Alfie’s crotch, his bulge prominent through the soft fabric. He feels himself flush a bit, and keeps his gaze downcast as he obeys, settling himself gingerly into the cruck of Alfie’s thighs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie wraps his arms round him and holds him snugly, and Tommy can’t resist the warmth of the thick chest and arms caging him in so pleasantly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Coldness seeps into his bones when he’s working, and he loses touch with his body until a migraine or whatever else reminds him that he’s tethered to a corporeal form. A form that unfortunately requires maintenance and care. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With everything on at work, it’s been a few days since he’s let Alfie properly touch him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It doesn’t surprise him when the titular secretary staggers onto the screen with a spreader bar holding her arms apart. Of course Alfie got them a kinky movie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alfie, if you wanted to fuck, you could’ve just said.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now, that’s offensive language, innit? If I’d only wanted a fuck, my darling, I would have just bent you over the nearest surface and helped myself,” he murmurs, his lips warm, tickling the back of Tommy’s neck. “Now. Sit and watch the film, you insatiable little whore. Quit trying to tempt me with your salaciousness.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie’s filthy words don’t help, and Tommy feels lust stirring inside of him. Being held so firmly probably doesn’t help, either – nor does what the secretary’s doing on screen, carrying papers to her boss with her mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really ought to make you go to work like that,” Alfie muses. “Let everyone see you for the desperate little slag you are. Your prick would tent your trousers, provided I let you wear them, and you wouldn’t even be able to cover yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck. How does Alfie make his cock rise using only his words? He feels like he’s some sort of a kid. He supposes it doesn’t help that he hasn’t gotten off in the past few days, too stressed to bother with something as trivial as his prick. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He reaches for it now – surely, that’s where this evening has been going – only for Alfie to slap his hand away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oy! Awfully rude, innit, to be touching yourself during such a wholesome picture?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy doesn’t even want to dignify the statement by pointing out that this is a bondage film, clearly intended to get him horny. “Fuck off, Alfie.” Tommy reaches for his crotch again, only for Alfie to firmly grab his wrist. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fucking filthy, you are. Can’t even enjoy a picture without burdening me with your whorishness.” He rumajes in the couch cushions – clearly, he had prepared in advance for this – and emerges with their oft-implemented pair of handcuffs. “Luckily, we have ways of preventing this kind of indecency.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy tries halfheartedly to retain the use of his hands, but there’s nothing really he can do – he doesn’t actually want to fight Alfie, and he doesn’t actually want to get off of his lap, either. It feels too good to be properly held after days of working himself senseless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His hands click into the cuffs behind his back, and his groin throbs, indignant that its means of relief has been denied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There, now.” Alfie pats his thigh, torturously close to where his prick is already tenting his pajama bottoms. “Surely that will help us to control our baser impulses, won’t it, darling?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy thumps his head back against Alfie’s shoulder. “Touch me, you fucking bastard.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“More of your naughty language. Clearly, more extreme measures are required, hm?” Alfie rumages again, and holds a ball gag up in front of Tommy’s face. “Open wide, sweetheart.” Tommy keeps his lips closed, and Alfie calmly wrenches his jaw open. “Resisting will only make things harder for yourself, love.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His ability to speak and use his hands taken away, he suddenly feels quite powerless in Alfie’s lap. Alfie could do anything to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wishes he’d take advantage of this power for a good fuck, but all the bastard seems interested in doing is teasing him. He runs his hands up and down Tommy’s body, exploring everywhere except where he most wants to be touched. Filthy things are happening on screen, and Alfie’s whispering even filthier things in Tommy’s ear, nibbling and sucking at his neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hasn’t touched his prick in an hour, yet Tommy’s so hard it feels like every nerve is throbbing. He badly wants to be touched, and tries to grind his hips down on Alfie’s crotch to instigate him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Squirmy little thing, aren’t you, love?” Alfie remarks fondly, his hands finding their way under Tommy’s shirt, feeling up his bare skin. He plays with his nipples, which only ratchets up Tommy’s frustration. “Hmm. You appear to be leaking, darling.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy looks down in shame, and sees that Alfie is right: a splotch of precum has blossomed through the fabric of his pajama pants. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One of these days, I’d like to try and make you come just by sucking on these beauties,” Alfie remarks, tracing his areolas. “I know you say you can’t, but you also said you could never come from your arse alone. And that’s long since disproven, hasn’t it, sweetie?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy will never forget the shock and embarrassment of coming for the first time on Alfie’s fingers alone, without a hand on his prick. It was something of a repeat experience when Alfie finally managed to make him come with just his cock. “Such a good little girl you are,” Alfie had growled in his ear, making Tommy flush all over with equal parts shame and arousal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The memory doesn’t help his current state of sexual frustration. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Halfway through the movie, Alfie unexpectedly flips him onto his stomach, yanking his cotton trousers down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t expect me not to relieve myself,” Alfie explains, and Tommy hears the wet sound of him slicking himself up with lube. “You have any idea of the little sounds you’re making?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy hadn’t been aware he’d been making any sounds. It’s unbelievable, how Alfie can chip away at his self-control.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie fucks him without prep, with uncharacteristically little care. “Serves you right, for being such a little tease,” he chides, when Tommy can’t contain his pained noises. “A man only has so much self control.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie purposefully thrusts against his prostate every so often, but it’s clear his intent isn’t to get Tommy off. His cock is trapped between his belly and the couch cushion, his face half-pressed into the sofa, and the secretary is getting spanked on screen. He’s aroused and miserable, and his arse aches with each uncaring thrust until Alfie spills inside him with an unrestrained groan of pleasure. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He leaves his flaccid cock in Tommy’s arse as he sits them back up to face the TV. “There, now.” Alfie kisses him wetly on the cheek. “Now we should be much less distracted.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy’s prick is hard, untouched and unsatisfied, and he fucking hates him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He struggles to maintain that hate, as Alfie gently caresses his sides, smooths his air, kisses his neck. Rambles nonsense in his ear about what’s happening on screen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s ridiculous that he should be feeling sleepy, but then, he hasn’t slept much in the past few days, has he? And Alfie’s so terribly warm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t realize he’s drifted off, until he wakes to shocking waves of pleasure. Onscreen, the credits are rolling, and Alfie’s big, warm hand stroking him firmly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Almost wish you hadn’t come to your senses, sweetheart,” says Alfie, noticing he’s awake. “You were making the sweetest sounds.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy tries to bite back a moan when he comes, but the ball gag is holding his jaw open. He arches against Alfie as he spills into his hand, then collapses against his broadness, panting and feeling pleasantly deflated. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Still not the best movie partner,” Alfie remarks, “but maybe now you’ll be relaxed enough to get a little shut-eye tonight, hmm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Tommy hates him. He really fucking hates him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he has to admit, he feels better than he has all week. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
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